Distant Relations
by Sierra Phoenix
Summary: Xander learns the truth about his parentage and must decide whether or not to seek out his real father. Crossover with Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Distant Relations  
AUTHOR: Sierra Phoenix  
DISCLAIMER: I have no claim to any television shows, much to my extreme dismay.  
SUMMARY: (Crossover with Supernatural) Xander learns the truth about his parentage and must decide whether or not to seek out his real father. Set the summer after BtVS Season 3.  
NOTES: I know the long lost family plot device is really cliché, but I just couldn't help myself. This plot bunny bit in and I couldn't shake it off.

* * *

"Are you sure passing math is absolutely necessary for me to graduate?"

Xander heard Willow sigh over the phone, the scolding tone evident in her voice as she told him, "Xander, you can get this. You just need to focus."

"I mean, really," he continued, "when will I ever need to graph a pringle after high school."

"Parabola," Willow corrected, "and they can be extremely useful for-"

Xander cut off Willow's well-intended pep-talk, "And for all we know I may not survive the Mayor's whole ascension thing. These could be my last moments and I'm wasting them with prigulas and formulas."

"Nice try," Willow said, "but impending doom only works as a 'get out of homework free' card so many times before it just gets old."

It was Xander's turn to sigh, "You're wearing your 'resolve face,' aren't you?"

"Darn tootin', mister."

"It's just…this doesn't make any sense. I mean, unless this thing is supposed to look like a lop-sided triangle, I don't think my numbers are right." Xander turned his paper to see if it would look better at a different angle.

"Maybe this would be easier if we…you know…did it in person instead of over the phone?"

Xander repressed a groan, thinking math pretty much sucked no matter the setting, but he conceded anyway. "Yeah, I'll be over in a few."

"Okay, see you then."

He hung up the phone and began stuffing his book and papers into his backpack. He had really hoped to avoid going over to Willow's, not so much because he hated math (although he did), but because he didn't want to undertake the task of getting out the house without his father noticing.

His dad was constantly on his case. Tony Harris had never been the kind of father to take his son out in yard and toss around a ball, but lately it seemed even breathing was a capital offense worthy of bringing down the wrath of Old Man Harris. Xander couldn't think of any particular thing he'd done that could have irritated the man. He spent most of his time at school (either in classes or doing demon research in the library), and when he was at home, he tried to stay un-heard and un-seen. He wondered if maybe his dad was just having some sort of mid-life crisis considering his only son was nearing adulthood and about to graduate. That, or maybe it was just the obscene amount of alcohol the man could pack away.

Xander shouldered his backpack and made for the bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to see if the hallway was clear. When he was sure that it was, he slipped out and quietly closed the door behind him. He sneaked down the hallway, past the living room where it looked as though his dad was passed out in front of the TV, and made it to the front door without incident. His hand closed over the doorknob and Xander smiled and thought to himself, _home free_.

"Hey boy!"

Xander winced. Apparently Old Man Harris was not quite as passed out as he seemed. And what was with the 'boy'? What, the man couldn't be bothered to remember the name of his only son? Xander schooled his features and tried his best to keep a bland voice before he turned and asked with a shrug, "Yeah?"

"Don't you take that tone of voice with me," his dad blared. Tony teetered drunkenly in his direction, and Xander had to repress a shudder of disgust at the overwhelming smell of alcohol that wafted off the man. "Where do you think you're sneaking off to anyway?"

"I wasn't sneaking," Xander fibbed. "I'm just going over to Willow's to study."

"Study," Tony snorted. "As much as you two _study_," he said, clearly implying that he thought there was something other than studying going on, "you should be making straight A's."

"Whatever," Xander shrugged the comment off and turned to go.

"Don't you turn your back on me boy!" Tony grabbed Xander's shoulder, spinning him around so forcefully that his back slammed into the door.

"What on Earth is going on in here?" Jessica Harris appeared, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

Xander pressed his back harder against the door, wishing he could just sink through it and get out of this situation. "Nothing, mom, I'm just going over to Willow's to do some studying."

"Well, you better do some studying," Tony had to get his say in again, "'cause after this year is over you're gonna have to start earnin' your keep. No more of this free-loading crap."

Xander knew he should just let it go, knew that smarting off would only cause problems, but his mouth had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion and today was no different. "Right…because god forbid my _dad_ be forced to provide for his own son."

"You're no son of mine," Tony yelled, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Tony!" Jessica's shocked voice shouted before Xander could say anything.

"What's he talking about?" Xander asked.

"Nothing," Jessica attempted to smile, but it fell flat. "He's just had too much to drink."

"The hell I have," Tony said fiercely, turning his anger on her. "Don't play dumb; you know what I'm talking about."

"Don't do this!" Jessica's voice shook with tension and fear.

"Do you even know who the little bastard's real father is?"

Xander had had enough, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tony turned and looked at him with such loathing in his eyes that Xander would have staggered backward were it not for the door at his back. "Why don't you ask your mother that?" He shot a hateful glare at his wife before he shoved Xander aside, jerked the door open and stalked though, slamming it shut behind him.

Xander stared at the door he'd been so desperate to escape through only moments ago. Sure, he'd never been on the best terms with his father, but he'd never doubted that the man was, in fact, his father. He wanted to dispel the heavy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach. "Is it true?" he asked, watching his mother's reaction with equal parts hope and dread.

She avoided his gaze, smoothing her hands over her clothing as if she could just brush off the last few minutes. "Xander, you know how your father is when he drinks. He was just talking nonsense."

"So it's not true then?" he asked again, looking for some kind of solid confirmation in her pale, stricken features.

"Of course not." She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Now, you should get going," she told him, stepping closer and reaching a hand out to brush his arm. "Willow's probably waiting on you."

She didn't wait for his response, just turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

Xander wanted to simply believe her words, but he just couldn't shake that sinking feeling. He slid his backpack off his shoulders, his study date completely forgotten for the moment, and followed after his mom.

"Why would he say it if it weren't true?" he questioned her.

She was standing at the sink with her back to him, arms submerged to her elbows in dishes and soap-water. "I told you," she shrugged. "He'd had too much to drink and was just talking crazy."

Part of Xander wanted to give up, didn't want to push the issue any more than he had, but he had to ask, "Then why can't you look me in the eye?"

Her movements stilled and she was quiet for a moment. She spoke again as if she hadn't even heard his question, "He'll sleep it off and everything will be back to fine again tomorrow. You'll see," she said, but her voice was strained and the words were empty.

"Mom," Xander began pleadingly, "things have never been _fine_."

Her shoulders slumped, "What do you want me to say, Xander?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," Xander said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was what he really wanted.

She dried her hands on the dish-towel again, her movements slow and methodical. She turned then, crossing her arms in front of her and bending her head so that her chin almost touched her chest. It was like her body was trying to fold in on itself. She couldn't seem to pull her gaze away from the floor, but eventually she dragged her eyes up to meet his, and Xander saw they were glistening with unshed tears.

In that moment, Xander knew the truth and desperately wished he didn't. He looked away trying to blink back tears of his own; his eyes searched the kitchen as if they could find something there that might explain this all away.

"I'm sorry," his mother whispered. "I had hoped that you would never find out."

Xander looked back at her. "How…who…" He stuttered, not sure which question he should ask first.

Jessica gave a deep sigh and sat down at the small kitchen table, and Xander was suddenly struck by how old and resigned she now looked. She gave him a pained smile, "Why don't you sit down?"

He took the seat across from her, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands in front of him.

"Your father and I," she stopped and amended, "_Tony_ and I… had decided to separate for a while. Things were…well, they just weren't going very well…" She took a deep breath before starting again, "We were living in L.A. then and one night I met this man at a bar. His wife had died several years before, we were both hurting…it was just one of those things. We used protection," she told him, as if that could somehow excuse her actions, especially when it so obviously hadn't worked.

Xander wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Not only was he someone else's son, he was someone else's _accident_. A mistake. The statistic that proved that no product comes with a full-proof guarantee.

She continued on, "About a month later Tony and I got back together and moved here, to Sunnydale. We wanted to try and make things work."

"Guess he wasn't too happy when he found out about me?"

"I thought he would get past it. I thought he would think of you as his own."

Xander swallowed hard and tried to filter through the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were warring within him. "What was his name?"

"John," she told him.

"Was there a last name?" he asked, thinking John was probably a pretty common name.

"Williams," she said. "Or maybe it was Wilson," she murmured, frowning.

Xander stared at her, horrified at the thought that maybe she really _didn't_ know who his father was.

"No, it was Winchester. I remember now, it was definitely Winchester. Like the rifle."

Xander was starting to feel like he was nearing his breaking point by now. "What else do you remember about him?"

His mother looked anxious, "I don't really remember much else. It was only one night."

Xander guessed he was lucky she could even remember his name.

She must have noticed how upset he was because she tried to dredge up some more information for him. "I think he may have been from Kansas. Somewhere near Kansas City, I think. He said that's where his sons were."

"Sons?" Xander asked, surprised.

She nodded and looked away.

Xander didn't know what to say and didn't think he could handle hearing anything else. He was back to wanting desperately to be somewhere else. He stood up shakily and backed away from the table, "Well, I, uh…I should go. Willow's waiting and all."

Jessica stood too, "Xander."

He waved her off and gave her a smile that held more heart-break than humor. "I'll be back later." And with that, Xander practically bolted from the house, not even bothering to pick up his backpack on the way out the door.

* * *

A/N 2 - TIMELINE: I've been working out the timeline issue so that the story aligns and here's what I've come up with: For BtVS the timeline is getting pushed forward so that the Scooby gang will be the proud graduates of the class of 2006. For Supernatural most things stay the same. Sam was born on May 2, 1983, Mary is killed the following November 2, 1983. John Winchester and Jessica Harris meet up in April 1987, Xander is born in January 1988. For Supernatural, the episode "Home" took place around January or February, I think, but for the purposes of this fic I'm going to say it took place in mid- to late-April, and 'Asylum' and everything after that episode won't have happened yet, which I guess means this is going to be AU (like a crossover could ever be anything else). For the current date of the fic, May 2006, ages are as follows: Xander, 18; Sam, 23; Dean, 26.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yeah, I know this one is short…but the next one will be longer.

* * *

Willow was pacing. It had started with impatience, slid toward annoyance, followed by some minor makings of anger which quickly bled into worry, and then shortly thereafter took a sharp turn and rocketed straight toward mind-numbing panic. And now, Willow was pacing.

She glanced at the clock on the wall again. Only seconds had ticked by, but in a town like Sunnydale, every second could be the difference between life and death. Night had already fallen outside, and still Xander wasn't there. And they had rules; if you were going to be late, you called.

Her mind was currently running the gamut of various explanations: he'd gotten lost (unlikely, he'd known the way to her house since kindergarten), he was stuck in traffic (also unlikely, pedestrians don't usually experience heavy traffic), he'd been eaten by a vampire (unfortunately, this last explanation was a distinct possibility). She glanced at the clock again, another minute gone by. Still no Xander. Still no phone call.

Willow was somewhere between wearing a hole in the living-room carpet and calling out the troops, Buffy, and the National Guard to do a city-wide search for Xander when the doorbell finally rang. Willow made a sprint for door, nearly knocking over a vase and two lamps in the process. She jerked the door open and was mowed over by Xander (a very alive and healthy Xander) as he barged into the house without waiting for an invitation. After all, in a town like Sunnydale, invitations were only used for special occasions.

Mind-numbing panic was quickly swinging back toward anger, and Willow could feel a stern lecture coming on as she followed his quick steps into the living room. "Xander! Where have you been? I thought something terrible might have happened. I thought you might have been killed and left for dead in a ditch somewhere, or a dark alley, or-or a gutter even! For all I knew you could have been eviscerated by some giant, scaly, purple demon, and I never would have known, and I didn't know what to do, if I should call Buffy, and why didn't YOU call. We were supposed to study, and you were late, and you didn't call; we ALWAYS call if we're late, and you didn't even bring your books; how are we supposed to study if you don't bring your books, and-" Willow stopped her righteous ramble, suddenly noticing that Xander was pacing back and forth in an uncanny echo of the pacing Willow herself had been doing only moments before. "Xander? You are okay, right?"

Xander stopped abruptly and turned to face her, "She should have told me."

"Who should have told you what?" Willow asked, confused.

"I mean, she _did_ tell me," he said, before returning to his frantic pacing, "but she should have told me sooner. She knew all this time, and she never said anything. And this is information I need to know; I have a right to know this kind of thing. I mean, you go through life thinking you know. You've got 'A' plus 'B' and that equals 'C'. And then someone just replaces 'B' with 'Z', and then what do you have? You can't just pull the rug out from under someone like that, you know?" Xander stopped again and turned to her, waiting for her response.

Willow blinked in confusion, "Um…I think you lost me somewhere in the alphabet. Does this have something to do with the math homework?"

"What?" Xander asked, now just as confused as Willow.

She didn't know what this was about, but Willow could tell Xander was upset, and she hated seeing any of her friends in pain. "Why don't you just start at the beginning, Xander?" she urged gently.

Xander nodded and sat down on the couch, hunching over so that his arms rested on his legs. His gaze fell on his shoes as he tried to gather his racing thoughts. "My dad's not my dad." He raised his eyes to look at her, and, noticing she looked confused again, tried to explain, "I mean, the guy I've always thought of as my father, Tony Harris…isn't really my father."

"Oh," Willow said quietly as Xander's words started to sink in, and then the meaning of them really hit her, and her eyes widened in surprise and concern, "Oh!"

She quickly moved to his side, sitting down next to him on the couch and placing a comforting hand on his back, "Are you okay? How did you find out?"

Xander gave a half shrug in answer to the first question, and then said, "My dad-" he bit his lip then amended, "Tony let it slip. Actually, I think he's probably been dying to throw that in my face since the day I was born."

"I'm sorry," Willow whispered, rubbing his back soothingly. "Do you…do you know who your real father is?" she asked carefully.

"Yeah," Xander said. "Or I have a name at least."

Willow wished she knew what to do for him, but she didn't think a pint of ice cream would fix this one. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you."

"It's just," Xander paused then started again, "there are some things you think you know for sure, right? Things that are absolutely certain. And then suddenly they're not true anymore, and you can't help but wonder what else might not be true. I mean…I didn't even know who my father is; what else don't I know about me? It's like finding out vampires are real all over again. I guess this is why I never measured up to the Tony Harris standard. I'm not really a Harris." Xander said bitterly. "I don't know what I am now."

"Hey," Willow broke in, shaking his shoulder gently. "This doesn't change who you are. You're still the same Xander you were yesterday. The same Xander who hates math and loves those jelly-filled doughnuts from the Expresso-Pump and helps Buffy fight demons OH-and does the Snoopy dance every Christmas." Willow was gratified to see a small smile curve Xander's lips. "And if Tony Harris can't see how great you are just because he didn't have a hand in your DNA, then he's just a big poopy-head."

Xander really did smile then, "You pulled out the big guns there, didn't you."

"Well, he is," she told him seriously.

"Yeah," Xander nodded, but his gaze fell to the floor again.

"So you found out something different about yourself. I still know who you are."

Xander looked up at her, "Even if I don't."

"Even," Willow smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own. "You're my best friend, Xander. Nothing will ever change that."

Xander gave her a genuine smile, "Thanks. I think I needed that."

"So, you're okay? Or…feeling better I mean? 'Cause for a second there, I thought I was going to go all Willow-Babble-Fest on you, and, well, that wouldn't have been very comforting."

"Babble Willow or Lifetime-Movie Willow, you still would have found a way to get through to me."

"Well, I also had a back-up plan involving copious amounts of ice cream," she confessed.

Xander's eyebrows raised, "Rocky Road?"

"And mint chocolate chip." Willow turned serious again, "Really, is there anything I can do?"

"Actually," Xander rubbed his hands nervously on the pants legs of his jeans, "there might, sort of, be something you could do. I mean…I'm not saying I'm going to go and find this guy, but…"

"But you want to know where your father is?" When Xander nodded, Willow asked, "What do you know about him?"

Xander stood and moved anxiously about the room a bit. "Well, his name is John Winchester…like the rifle. He might be somewhere in Kansas…possibly near Kansas City. He has sons, and his wife died sometime before he met up with my mom. That pretty much sums it up. Mom wasn't exactly bursting with the details."

"Well, it's a start." Willow's brow was furrowed in thought; her mind was already racing with the best places to start looking. "Winchester's not a terribly common surname, and I can start in Kansas to begin with, that should narrow the search down considerably, and even if they're not there anymore I can find out where they used to live, and from there-"

"Hey Will?" Xander cut in. He smiled when Willow glanced questioningly at him, "Thanks for this."

Willow smiled and nodded, "That's what friends are for." She stood up, immediately wanting to get started searching. Once Willow got into her research mode it was difficult to get her out of it. She briefly considered that Xander probably still need some help with his math homework, but all things considered, she thought he probably needed this more, so she pushed the pouting inner-academic aside and made for the stairs to her room, "I'm just going to get online, I'm sure I'll have something for you in no time."

Willow was already on the first steps of the stairs when Xander called out again, "Oh, and Willow?"

She turned around grinning and didn't even wait for him to ask, "The ice cream's in the top of the freezer…you know where the bowls are."

Xander blinked for a moment, but then returned her grin, "Do you ever think that maybe you know me a little _too_ well?"

"It's the best friend prerogative," she told him stoically. "One day, there may even be telepathy involved."

They shared a smile before each turned and walked off in their own directions, Xander to raid the fridge for Rocky Road ice cream and Willow to find a long lost father.


	3. Chapter 3

Something strange was going on and Buffy was determined to find out what. It wasn't her slayer senses that were warning her. Those were usually pretty straight forward; something would attack and she would kill it. Unless of course it involved a prophetic slayer dream, in which case, it would be incredibly vague and cryptic and only make sense after the fact, if even then.

No, the 'something strange' that was going on involved her friends. Lately, Willow had been edgy and secretive, sometimes hiding papers or shutting her laptop when Buffy approached. Xander, on the other hand, had been somewhat quiet and withdrawn, but when Buffy asked if anything was wrong, he'd just smile, say he was fine, and crack a joke. That was the trouble with Xander. If something was going on with him that he didn't want you to know about, he hid it behind a mask of smiles and sarcasm that could fool most people.

But Buffy wasn't most people. She'd been friends with Xander and Willow long enough to pick up a thing or two about reading them, and there was definitely something going on with those two. If it were close to her birthday, she might suspect that they were planning a surprise party with the way she sometimes found them whispering to each other and sharing pointed glances when they thought she wasn't looking. But her birthday had already come and gone, much to Buffy's relief.

Her other thought was that Willow and Xander might be venturing into not-just-friends-land again. But after that whole fiasco with Spike, and the kissing, and Cordelia falling through the floor, Willow and Xander had both seemed sure that it was a mistake.

So Buffy didn't think it was that, which left her back at square one where her two best friends were keeping secrets from her. The slayer in her didn't like being kept out of the loop, and the friend in her didn't like it much either. She just hoped it wasn't because they had found a prophecy that said 'the mayor will ascend, and the slayer will die', because, while everything worked out okay the last time that happened, Buffy didn't want to keep pushing her luck.

Buffy sighed and flipped another page in the book she was reading. After classes had ended for the day, the gang had met in the library for a little research. Currently, they were all sitting around the table scouring every book they had for even the slightest mention of the ascension or what it might entail, which basically meant they had digressed to Giles muttering under his breath while periodically cleaning his glasses, Willow and Xander playing 'top this demon', and Buffy pretending to read while plotting how to get the truth out of Xander or Willow.

Buffy figured her best bet was Willow. Willow hated keeping secrets, and if Buffy could just get her alone and apply the right amount of pressure, she was sure she could get Willow to crack. Now she just had to figure out how to get her alone.

"…and it has this paralytic mucus that it excretes from its…oh…ew…never mind," Willow made a face and turned to the next page in her book.

"No, no, check this out," Xander rotated his book and slid it across the table to Willow. "Have you ever seen anything that ugly?"

"Oh, a gwuerlfrawk."

"Bless you," Xander said.

"No, that's the kind of demon it is," Willow told him. "And, yeah, really ugly, but most of the time they take human form."

Xander made a disgusted face. "How does that work? I mean…where do they put all those tentacles?"

"I don't want to know," Willow scanned the page further, "but it says here they're like inventors."

Xander looked uneasy, "If this is the part where you tell me they invented modern television, I don't want to know. I've accepted that demons exist, I'm not ready to accept that they're responsible for late-night TV."

"Actually, they create demons," Giles commented absently as he sifted through the books laid out in front of him.

"So they're like the Dr. Frankenstein of the demon world?" Xander asked.

"That's actually a very good analogy. They tend to populate the hellmouth and harness its demonic energy to bring their creations to life. Now, where did I put that translated copy of Rickfield's Demonic Phenomena…" Giles mumbled to himself as he stood and moved toward his office.

"Think that will be on Mr. Hargrove's biology final?" Xander asked.

"Not likely," Willow told him apologetically.

"See, we need a class on hellmouth 101," Xander suggested. "That way there'd be at least one class I'd be sure to pass." Xander sighed, and closed the book he'd been reading. "And speaking of passing classes, I better go study for that biology final. Nothing would suck more than to survive the apocalypse only to fail all my classes."

Willow closed her book as well and started gathering her things, "I'll walk with you."

Buffy looked up from her book, seeing her chance, "Hey Will? Could you stay a bit longer? I was wondering if you could help me with my French."

Willow looked at her in surprise, "Oh…um…sure." She turned to Xander who had stopped to wait for her, and asked, "Do you want to come over later to work on that math thing?"

Xander stared blankly at her, "What math thing? We don't have any-" Willow gave Xander one of those pointed looks that Buffy was beginning to hate, and whatever she was trying to convey finally dawned on Xander. "Right…that math thing." Xander glanced at Buffy then, and she tried to look nonchalant. "Because I want to pass math too," Xander explained.

_Yeah, they're real subtle, _Buffy thought.

"Right," Willow added. "I'll see you later then."

Buffy watched Xander leave and waited for the library door to swing shut. She turned to Willow, crossed her arms over her chest, and, deciding to cut straight to the chase, bluntly asked, "Okay, what's going on?"

"What?" Willow asked, her eyes widening in panic. "There's nothing, I mean, why would you ask…there's really nothing going on."

Willow's eyes were begging her to believe, but Buffy had developed immunity to Willow-eyes. "I know something's going on. Why are you guys shutting me out?"

Willow's eyes evaded her gaze now. "We're not shutting you out exactly," she pleaded.

"Well, that's what if feels like," Buffy told her. "Why won't you talk to me?"

Willow was starting to get really flustered now; her hands made nervous gestures, "The thing is, I'm not sure if I should say or not. I mean, he didn't say not to say, but I thought if he was going to say, he would say it himself, but since he hasn't said anything, I don't know if should say, you know what I'm saying?"

"Not really," Buffy said, still trying to decipher Willow-speak. "But tell me anyway."

Willow sighed, and her shoulders slumped as some of the anxiety left her, and Buffy knew she had her. "Xander's dad isn't his dad."

"Say again?" Buffy really hoped Xander's dad hadn't been possessed, because that never ended well.

"Xander found out that Mr. Harris isn't his real father," Willow revised.

"Oh," Buffy said and tried not to feel hurt that Xander didn't confide in her too.

Willow must have noticed the expression on her face because she tried to explain on his behalf, "I'm sure the reason he didn't tell wasn't because he didn't want you to know. It's just…with everything that's going on he probably just didn't want to add anything more to the pile."

"Yeah, I guess," Buffy tried to smile convincingly.

But apparently it wasn't very convincing, because Willow's brow furrowed in concern, and she tried again, "Don't feel bad. I'm sure he was going to tell you just as soon as everything with the ascension was over and things calmed down."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded without feeling. It hurt that Xander had been going through something this whole time and had felt he couldn't talk to her about it. She didn't want him thinking that he couldn't depend on her just because an apocalypse had popped up. Buffy tried to muster up another reassuring smile for Willow, and then shrugged, "Well, I should probably get going. I need to check in with my mom and grab some dinner before I go out patrolling tonight."

"Ok," Willow said rather miserably, a guilty, worried expression still twisting her features. "I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure," Buffy agreed, before turning and walking out the library's double doors.

* * *

Willow ushered Xander through the front door and up to her room only seconds after he knocked. She'd been fretting since the moment Buffy had left her in the library and by now she was nearly vibrating with agitation.

Xander must have noticed, because the first question out of his mouth was, "Did you not find anything?"

"Huh?" Willow responded, her mind still focused on the earlier confrontation with Buffy. "No, no, I found stuff." Guilt and anxiety were weighing on her so heavily that she just couldn't take it anymore, and she blurted out gracelessly, "Buffy knows."

Xander gave a single, slow nod. "Well, I had planned on telling her eventually anyway. I was just waiting for the right time."

"I'm sorry," Willow apologized. "She figured out something was going on and cornered me after you left. I didn't mean to, it just sort of came out."

"Really, it's okay, Will." Xander smiled, reinforcing his words. "She, ah…she didn't seem upset about it, did she? I mean…about my not telling her?"

"No," Willow said, then added, "well, maybe a little. Nothing got broken, though. That's gotta be a good sign, right?"

"Well, that, or she's saving it till the next time she sees me," Xander worriedly told her.

"Hey," Willow said, placing her hands on her hips. "She shouldn't be mad at you, she should be supporting you," she told him firmly. Willow didn't think Buffy had seemed angry, but sometime the slayer did have a tendency to react rashly and with violent outcomes.

"Ah, I'm sure it'll be fine," Xander waved her off. "I'll try and catch up with her on patrol…talk to her then."

Willow nodded. "Good idea. If there is any pent up anger, she can work out her unresolved feelings on vampires," she told him brightly. She couldn't count the number times she had worked things out with Buffy while Buffy had wailed on vampires or the stray demon or two.

Xander rocked forward putting his weight on his toes before rolling back on to his heels. "So…" the word was stressed a little impatiently.

"Oh!" Willow, realizing he was waiting to hear about the information she'd been able to dig up on his family, started and jumped up to retrieve a file folder from her desk.

They both sat on her bed, and Willow opened the file and sorted through the papers. "Okay," Willow said, gearing up for explanation mode. "I started searching through Kansas records dating back to a few years before you were born and found a John and Mary Winchester living in Lawrence, Kansas." Willow sifted through the pages some more. "I also found Lawrence birth certificates for two boys, Dean and Sam Winchester, born to John and Mary."

Willow handed the papers to Xander, and he stared at them a while before slowly nodding.

Willow pulled out another print-out. "I found this newspaper clipping from November 1985, it writes about Mary Winchester dying in an accidental house fire." She handed the clipping over.

"The search started getting more difficult after that. The trail kind of went cold not long after the fire. It's almost like they disappeared.

"I spread the search out and started looking for more recent stuff. There was a Sam Winchester registered at Standford-"

"Hey, that's not far from here," Xander said eagerly.

Willow made an apologetic face, "Yeah, but he's not there anymore. And we don't know for sure if he's the same one."

"Right," Xander said, somewhat disheartened. "Was there anything else?"

"Well," Willow bit her lip, not sure whether or not to divulge the next bit of information. "There was also a mention of a Dean Winchester in St. Louis a few months ago." Xander gave her an interested look and she grimaced before saying, "He was killed breaking into a woman's house. The cops suspected him of being connected to a murder as well."

Xander looked really dismayed at that, and Willow jumped in, "But, like I said, we don't for sure that it's the same guy. It could be a completely different Dean Winchester."

Xander didn't look convinced, and instead asked, "Was there anything else on John Winchester?"

Willow shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry."

Xander shrugged sadly. "That's okay, at least you tried."

"I was thinking though," Willow said, she had an idea and she really wanted to find something positive to tell him. "They lived in Lawrence for quite a while, so there's gotta be someone there who knows where they went."

Willow shuffled through the papers till she found one with an address on it, "This is the address of where they lived in Lawrence. You might be able to get a forwarding address from the real estate company that sold it, or the people that live there now might be able to tell you something. If not, you might ask around town. Someone's bound to know something.

"You said you wanted to go on a tour of the States after graduation. If you ended up in Kansas anyway…" she left the thought hanging.

"Maybe," he said. Xander stared at the address thoughtfully, and Willow could tell he was considering the possibility too. Xander sighed then and began placing the papers back in the file folder. "Buffy's probably out patrolling by now, I should go find her. Mind if I keep these," he gestured to the files.

"Of course," Willow told him, "they're yours."

"Thanks for doing this, Will," Xander smiled, but it wasn't as bright as it could have been.

"Anytime," Willow said, as they walked down the stairs to the front door. "I just wish I could have found some more information."

"Hey, at least it's something," Xander conceded as they reached the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then," Willow said, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

The longer it took to find Buffy the more worried Xander got. Not for Buffy, of course, but for himself. Buffy could handle herself when it came to the things that liked to lurk in the cemetery, while Xander, searching alone through the shadowed graveyard, was at an extreme disadvantage when it came to fending off demons and the undead.

It would have been a lot simpler to track Buffy down if Sunnydale didn't have twelve cemeteries through which he had to search. He was just about to give up on Rosemont Memorial when a strange scuffling sound drew his attention to a clump of bushes off to his right.

"Hello," Xander called loudly, then cursed himself for doing something so stupid. "Good idea, Xander. Alert the creepy, crawly thing that you're here."

The scuffling noise sounded again, and Xander inched closer trying to peer into the dark depths of the shrub. He tilted head and leaned in a little further, if he only had a flashlight, he could-

Something clamped down on his shoulder in a strong grip, and Xander jumped and gave a girlish shriek. He spun around and was surprised to find himself facing a very bemused Buffy.

"Xander?" Buffy questioned wryly, raising an eyebrow.

"You startled me," Xander told her, still trying to get his breathing under control.

"Yeah, I guessed that with the girly scream and all."

"I'll have you know that was a very manly yelp." Xander gestured toward the bush next to them and explained, "I heard something scurrying around in there, thought I'd check it out."

Buffy's features took on that determined slayer look she got when she was hunting. She moved Xander aside and leaned in close to the rustling bush. She reached her hand out and was about to pull away some of the branches when something small, brown, and furry came darting out from the bush straight at them.

Buffy gave the girlish shriek this time and jumped back which caused her to knock into Xander which caused him to trip backward over a headstone which sent them both sprawling to the ground.

"Ugh," Buffy groaned and struggled to her feet. "Are you all right?" she asked, reaching a hand out to help him up.

Xander took her hand and let her easily pull him to his feet. "Yeah, I'll live. But that's probably going to leave a bruise," he complained.

"I can't believe I let Ricky the Raccoon get the drop on me," Buffy lamented, dusting bits of grass and dirt off her pants.

"Well, I'll tell you what. If you don't tell anyone I screamed like a girl," Xander suggested gamely, "I won't tell anyone that you…screamed like a girl."

They both frowned at the last part of his suggestion, each thinking that Buffy was a girl and therefore would scream like one.

Finally, Buffy merely shrugged. "Sounds fair to me."

It was then that they both remembered there was an unresolved issue between them that had yet to be addressed, and an awkward tension crept in and stilted their conversation.

"So what are you doing here?" Buffy asked. "I mean…besides checking the bushes for demonic raccoons."

"Actually, I was looking for you. Willow told me she told you, and I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for not telling you."

"You know, you're starting to sound like Will," Buffy joked.

"I really am sorry," Xander said. "It wasn't that I didn't want to tell you, it's just with everything you've got going on with Faith and the Mayor and the gloom-and-doom day that graduation promises to be…I didn't want to give you anything else to worry about."

"Xander, the thing is," Buffy countered, "all that stuff I'm dealing with, I can handle it because you guys are there backing me up. That's what friends do, and I can't back you up if you won't let me."

"I know," Xander replied, "And did I mention how sorry I am?"

"No, you don't have to be sorry," Buffy sighed, waving off his apology. "I just…I want you to know that I'm here. You know I," Buffy stopped and glanced away, apparently having difficulty getting out whatever it was she wanted to say.

She moved to sit on one of the headstones, and Xander sat down next to her. "Back when I was living in L.A.," she started, "and I found out my parents were getting divorced…I didn't tell any of my friends."

Xander looked over at her in surprise. She had mentioned her dad before, but she had never really talked about her parents' divorce.

"I was going through this thing that I didn't think they could understand," Buffy confided. "I mean, how could they? Even _I_ didn't understand it."

Xander nodded. He couldn't deny that he'd felt a little that way too. He could barely keep track of his own fluctuating feelings on the whole matter, much less sort them out enough to talk to somebody about them.

They were quiet for a moment, then Buffy added dryly, "And considering my friends then were the biggest gossips in school it would have ended up all over campus and probably on the six o'clock news. Anyway," Buffy shrugged, "I just want you to know that if you need anything, I'm here."

"I know," Xander said, contemplating for a moment what his world would be like if he didn't have his friends to rely on. "You and Will…I don't know what I'd do without my girls."

"How have things been at home since you found out?" Buffy asked carefully.

"Pretty much the same," Xander said ironically. "I'm not even sure he remembers telling me. It's quite possible that moment got lost in the drunken fog that is his brain."

"What about your mom?"

Xander shook his head. "She's trying extra-hard to pretend that everything's fine and dandy. Apparently that involves extra-wide smiles and baking lots of cookies. She actually offered to pack me a lunch yesterday, then asked if I needed any help with my homework. It was weird."

For as long Xander could remember his dad had always been a verbally abusive drunk and his mom had been a kind of absent-minded mother who only played the role on random occasions when it occurred to her she was supposed to. He'd learned to fend for himself in most things, had learned to find his own lunches and dinners by the time he was school-age and had realized that if he needed help with something, he'd have to get it from someone other than his parents.

"It probably wouldn't be so bad if she didn't always burn the cookies. I just hope she doesn't try cooking a meal. I might die of food-poisoning before the mayor has a chance to kill us at graduation." Xander sighed, and shook the thought away. "I guess she's trying though. Just seems like too little, too late.

"Dad on the other hand spends his time pointing out my every mistake and complaining if I try to _exist_ anywhere that could be construed as 'in his way'; that, or he just ignores my existence completely. I haven't decided which one bugs me more."

"Yeah, I haven't heard from my dad since he had his secretary send me a lovely flower arrangement for my birthday," Buffy commiserated.

"We should start a club," Xander suggested without enthusiasm. "For people with dysfunctional and AWOL dads. We could call it KODD. Kids of Dead-beat Dads."

Buffy threw out her suggestion, "Hey, maybe we could get Giles to adopt us. It could be just like it is now except we get to hit him up for money and presents." Then she added more seriously, "I really am lucky to have him as a watcher, looking out for me." She seemed to suddenly realize what she just said and turned to Xander with a panicked expression. "You won't tell I said that will you?"

"Your secret's safe with me." Xander smiled conspiratorially.

"Good. If he heard me say that, he'd never let me live it down. _Buffy, if you don't stop dropping that shoulder, you'll never be able to properly block. Now remember how lucky you are to have me_," she mimicked without the accent.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes after that. Eventually Buffy broke the quiet again by asking, "Have you thought about finding your real father?"

"Thought about? Yes. Decided? Not so much." Xander shifted on the headstone and dug his hands into his jacket pockets. "Willow was able to scrounge up some information that might be about him…but there's still a big if there. It might not even be the same guy, and even if it is, there's a good chance I'd never be able to find him. And even if I did find him, I can't just walk up to him and say, 'Hi, I'm Xander and I think you might be my dad,' can I?"

Buffy shrugged unhelpfully, "I had someone just walk up to me and say 'Hey, you're a vampire slayer.' It can't get much weirder than that."

"True," Xander conceded, then sighed in frustration. "I just wish I knew what to do."

"Well look on the bright side," Buffy said. "If we survive graduation, you'll have the whole summer to figure it out."

"Yeah, key word there being _survive_." Xander noticed the offended look Buffy gave him, and he amended, "Which, of course, we will. 'Cause you're gonna kick that ass."

"Right, as soon as we figure out how I go about doing that." Buffy gave an aggravated expression then looked around the empty cemetery. "Man, what's going on tonight? You'd think there'd be at least one vampire out."

"Well, if you're getting antsy, we could always try scaring up a few more raccoons," Xander offered.

"Eh," Buffy replied as she stood and stretched, "I think I'll just head home and actually get some studying done. Unfortunately, a note that says 'the mayor is an evil demon' won't get me out of the last day of class. Besides, we've gotta get there early to pick up our robes."

Xander stood too. "Right, the ever-elegant commencement robes complete with a goofy hat. That's supposed to be our reward for four years of hell? Wearing a goofy get-up while a photographer immortalizes the moment in print? Seems more like a penance to me. At least they'll make for some stylish death shrouds."

"Hey," Buffy said defensively, as they began making their way out of the graveyard.

"Not that they will be," Xander corrected. "'Cause you're gonna kick that ass."

They left the cemetery together, neither knowing tomorrow would begin the landslide that would end in a massive battle, a giant snake demon blown to bits, and the complete destruction of Sunnydale High.


	4. Chapter 4

"She's a beauty, ain't she?"

Xander stared with something akin to terror at the monstrosity before him. Were it not for recently seeing a giant snake nearly decimate his graduating class he might even say it was the most horrifying thing he'd ever seen. "She's…something," Xander managed, his face twisted in a grimace.

Uncle Rory gave Xander a hearty slap on the back that almost sent him stumbling forward. "Well, she'll get you where you're going."

Xander eyed the beast in front of them. He had serious doubts that the car in question could get him to Oxnard without its engine falling out, much less make it through all fifty states.

"I fixed her up real good," Rory informed Xander. "It's good to have a hobby, you know?"

Xander had serious doubts about that too. Rory had recently retired from taxidermy and had decided to fill his newly acquired spare time with some freelance mechanics. Now Rory's yard was filled with cars in various states of repair…or destruction as the case might be. It was really ironic, Xander thought, considering the man had had his license revoked due to outstanding DUI's and couldn't actually drive any of the cars he fixed. Xander would be willing to bet, though, that any car Rory got his hands on would never be road-ready again.

Rory sighed at Xander's silence, "It's the color, isn't it? I knew I should have gone with the green."

Xander tilted his head as he looked at the car. It was certainly an eye-sore. He couldn't decide if it looked more like a shade of vomit orange or merely a vomit-_inducing_ orange.

"I just got a blue one in, but I haven't had a chance to tinker with-"

"I'll take it," Xander blurted out. If his uncle hadn't gotten his hands under the hood yet, then there was a good chance the car was still capable of traveling for longer distances. Rory gave him a strange look, and Xander tried to explain away his hasty reaction, "I'm just really eager to hit the road. Life is a highway, you know?"

Rory gave him a wide grin as if the two were in cahoots in some secret scandal and slapped him on the back again. "Of course you are. A man's gotta make his mark on the world. Come on, I'll show you the other car." Rory motioned for Xander to follow him and led him to the other side of the yard.

"There she is," Rory waved his arm proudly.

The car wasn't new by any means, even the word _used_ was probably a generous statement. The paint was faded and chipped in some places, rust caked on in others, and the dashboard's leather was dry and cracked, but on the whole the car looked sturdy enough and all the windows were intact. Xander figured beggars couldn't be choosers.

"So, where are you going? Gonna leave a heart-broken woman in every city?" Rory asked.

"I thought maybe I'd hit Vegas…maybe see if there are some aliens out in Roswell-"

"Damn government and their cover-up conspiracies," Rory piped in.

"Maybe, um…Kansas…I don't know."

"Kansas," Rory looked at him incredulously. "What the hell's in Kansas?"

"Um…" Xander thought hard for a moment trying to come up with something in Kansas that would interest Rory. "They have the world's largest prairie dog."

"Is that right?" Rory asked, his skepticism now turning to interest. "You know, I once stuffed a prairie dog-"

"Oh, is that the time?" Xander made an exaggerated show of looking at his watch. "I better hit the road. I still have to go by and see my friends…don't want to waste any daylight."

"That's right," Rory slapped Xander on the back again, and Xander really wished he would stop doing that. "Just remember, son, the world is your oyster."

"I'll…um…I'll keep that in mind, Uncle Rory."

Rory dug the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Xander. Xander loaded his stuff into the car and gave Rory a wave before getting in the car and driving off.

* * *

Willow opened her front door to find a grinning Xander standing on her doorstep. Before she could even ask what he was doing there, he stepped aside and motioned to something in the driveway, "Check out my new wheels."

Willow gave a look of delighted surprise which quickly changed to a frown of dismay as she followed him over to the vehicle.

"Yeah, I know it's not much to look at, but Uncle Rory didn't have time to lose a wrench it somewhere, so it should still be sea-worthy."

"So I guess you're really going?" Willow asked.

"Call me journeyman."

"I don't think that means what you think it means," Willow pointed out.

"What? I'm a man and I'm going on a journey," he said, as if it should be obvious. Willow shook her head but smiled and humored him anyway. "Anyway, this is my last stop before I hit the open road."

"Last?" Willow questioned indignantly.

"Well, I saved the _best_ for last," Xander explained. "Though it might be difficult for you top the going away present Buffy gave me."

"Oh!" Willow exclaimed, suddenly remembering she had something to give to Xander. She took off back into the house without bothering to explain where she was going. Once she found what she was looking for she ran back out to the driveway where Xander was still standing next to his car with a befuddled expression on his face.

"Here, this is for you," Willow handed him an envelope.

"Ya know," Xander said critically as he took the envelope, "I don't think you could have fit a million dollars in here. Unless, of course, you simply wrote a check."

Willow merely raised an eyebrow in response. "Well, all right, but it better be Hallmark," Xander joked.

The card was, indeed, a Hallmark card along with a little something else. "It's a calling card," Willow told him, "So if you miss me you can call me from wherever you are, at any time." Willow thought for a moment then added, "Actually, it's more of a mandatory 'you better call everyday so I don't worry, Mister,' kind of card. And if you run out of minutes I can always renew it."

Xander looked down at the calling card then back up at Willow, "I don't know, Will, 600 minutes? I'm thinking I haven't spent that much time on a phone my entire life up to this point…I don't know if I can squeeze that many minutes in over the summer."

"Well, just remember," Willow said, "I expect you to call often."

"Got it. Daily check-ins."

"So does my gift beat Buffy's?" Willow asked, curious as to what the other girl had given Xander.

"I don't know," Xander stalled, holding up the calling card in one hand and something imaginary in the other as though balancing the two. "Calling card versus stakes and holy water…that's a tough one."

"Drat," Willow complained. "I suppose a calling card won't be much good against a gang of vampires. Out done by the slayer goodie-bag," Willow pouted.

"I don't know, though," Xander commented, "I'm kind of hoping I don't run into any vampires. The idea of a vacation is to get away from that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I'm going with Oz to a gig in L.A. Should be pretty exciting," Willow grinned happily for a moment and then regarded Xander more seriously. "So how did Buffy seem when you talked to her?"

"Still kind of down about Angel leaving, I think." Xander sighed and leaned against the car, "I know she misses him, but I say good riddance. We've got enough bad in this town as it is."

"Xander, Angel isn't bad," Willow sighed as she began the tired, old argument of defending Angel's goodness to Xander. Xander had disliked Angel from the moment Buffy took an interest him. And he'd hated vampires since their childhood friend Jesse had been killed and turned into one. Factor in Jenny Calendar's death at the hands of Angelus, and Angel was about as low on Xander's list as he could get. He had been practically livid when he found out Angel fed on Buffy to cure himself.

"I know," Xander said, and Willow gave him a disbelieving look. "I do. Look, it's no secret that I hate the guy – soul or not – but I do know the difference. It's just that, even with a soul, whenever he's around Buffy gets hurt. And call me simple, but as far as I'm concerned, whatever hurts my friends equals bad in my book. I just think it's better for everyone if he's not here."

Willow wanted to contradict him, but, truthfully, Xander had a point. "So…" Willow said thoughtfully, searching for something to say that would lighten the conversation back up. "Stakes and holy water?" She made a quizzical face.

Xander laughed, "Yeah, but her mom gave me a disposable camera and sandwiches, so that kind of balances it out."

"Oooo, you'll have to take pictures of all the cool places you go," Willow said, excitement tinting her voice at the prospect. "You could get pictures of the Grand Canyon and all those historical monuments." Willow's academic mind was awash with all the possibilities.

"Actually, I was thinking I'd use the whole roll taking pictures at every Elvis museum I come across." Willow frowned at Xander. "You're right, I should save a couple of shots just in case I see an alien in Roswell. Want to get proof and all."

Willow just rolled her eyes, "You're hopeless. So, have you thought anymore about going to Kansas?"

"Well," Xander considered, "It is home to the World's Largest Ball of Twine."

"Xander," Willow gave him a 'get serious' look.

"Seriously," Xander said, "we're talking seven million feet of twine here. That doesn't happen just over-night. There's history there."

Willow stared at him.

"All right, I've thought about it," Xander said.

"And?" Willow prompted when he didn't say anything else.

"And, I figure it can't hurt to just stop by. If I'm going to see the largest ball of twine I can take some time out to skip over to Lawrence and ask around a bit. But I'm not going to get my hopes up," Xander warned.

"But what if you do find them?" Willow asked.

"I don't know," Xander said quietly. "I guess I'll just play it by ear."

"Well, remember, you can call me anytime."

"Got it," Xander said, waving the envelope with the calling card.

"So, did you get any other cool going-away goodies?" Willow asked.

"Well Giles, smart man that he is, gave me a map. Of course, that led to a ten minute instructional course on how to _read_ a map, followed by a ten minute lecture on the dangers of picking up hitchhikers."

Willow smiled, "I think he's going to miss you."

"Yeah, who will call him G-man in my stead."

Willow smiled, "We're all gonna miss you." Willow suddenly realized that Xander was really leaving and could be gone for a very long time. They'd been friends since the sandbox and in that time neither Xander nor she had ever been far from Sunnydale and certainly never for any length of time. "Are you sure you don't need me to go with you?" Willow asked suddenly.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Besides, you've got plans with Oz."

"But what if you _do_ run into vampires. Or zombies. Or what if you meet a werewolf, I've got experience with that you know," Willow's sudden panic, brought on by the realization that her best friend was leaving and could be gone for a very long time, was about to send her into full-on babble mode.

"I have a feeling a certain werewolf would be disappointed if you _did_ come with me. And I think this might be something I need to do by myself, you know?" Xander tried to console her.

"But," Willow couldn't contain what was really bothering her anymore, "you'll come back, right?"

"What?" Xander exclaimed, surprised she even had to ask. "Of course I will. Will," Xander took her by the shoulders and forced her to face him, "No matter what I find or what happens out there…I'm coming back. Why would you even ask?"

Willow shrugged, "You've always talked about how much you want to get out of your parents' house. And anyone would have to be crazy to want to stay on the hellmouth."

"Well then count me in the crazy crowd, 'cause there's no where else I'd rather be than here with my girls. I'll be back before you know it."

"But what if you find your family and they turn out to be really great?" Willow protested.

"I don't care if they turn out to be millionaires who welcome me with open arms…I'm still coming back. And the chances of my finding them are probably slim to none anyway." Willow continued to pout. "You know…maybe I shouldn't go."

"What?" Willow looked startled.

"I mean, what's out there that the great state of California doesn't have?"

"You can't!" Willow yelled, suddenly realizing she was being selfish. "This might be your only chance to find your dad. You have to go."

Xander gave her a knowing smile and Willow realized she'd been played, "You did that purpose just to make me forget how upset I was."

"Did it work?" Xander asked.

"A little," Willow relented. "But I'm still going to miss you."

"And I'm still going to call you every day," Xander promised. "Trust me, you're young and fancy-free and you're about to start the college thing. You and Oz and Buffy are going to have so much fun that the summer will go by before you can say," Xander stopped to think of a word, "actually, you can say whole sentences pretty fast when you get going."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself and that you'll be careful."

"I will," Xander told her. "And you be careful too. After all, you guys are the ones who will still be on the hellmouth."

"We'll be careful. Besides…summers are always slow on the demon front," Willow said and then suddenly grabbed Xander in a tight hug.

Xander smiled softly and hugged her back, "I'm gonna miss you, Will."

"I'll miss you too," she whispered back.

They held tightly to each other for a few seconds longer before finally breaking apart. Xander gave her a smile and moved to the driver's side of the car. "I'll bring you back some souvenirs," he said before he opened the door and got in the car.

Willow waved as he backed out of the driveway and then followed his car with her eyes down the road till she could no longer see his taillights, all the while doing her best to keep tears at bay.

* * *

Las Vegas was full of bright lights and had more Elvis look-a-likes than could have been fit onto the Titanic. People seemed to be coming out of the woodwork and to a small town boy like Xander it mostly seemed just daunting. Of course, on his budget he was forced to stay at some out-of-the-way roach motel rather than the shiny, casino motels along the main strip. He supposed the appeal of the place was mostly based on gambling and the big casino shows, both of which cost money which was something Xander didn't really have enough of to waste. So the appeal was pretty much lost on Xander. All in all, he was glad to see the city in his rearview mirror, even without a memento, as Las Vegas souvenirs were also too expensive for Xander's budget.

Roswell, on the other hand, disturbingly reminded Xander of Sunnydale. He half expected to run across a vampire in the cool desert night; he didn't though. He didn't find any men in black either, and the closest thing he saw to an alien was the Green Martian Shake he had at the Crashdown Café. Although, there were a few suspicious teenagers, suspicious because they could pack away more Tabasco sauce than Xander could pack away Moon Pies, and that was really saying something. Apparently they liked their food spicy in New Mexico. He left Roswell with an 'I was abducted by aliens, what's your excuse?' T-shirt.

After Roswell, Xander took a short drive through northern Texas just to see if things in Texas really were bigger than everywhere else; however, the only things that seemed bigger there were the gigantic belt buckles and the large amounts of wide-open spaces where there was nothing but cows and land as far as the eye could see. He came out from a gas station one stop to find a 'Don't Mess with Texas' sticker attached to his bumper and guessed he'd found his souvenir for that state.

Xander's heading turned directly north after Texas, and Xander had to admit to himself that he was heading straight for Kansas now. With every passing mile of scenery that flew by outside Xander's driver-side window, his anxiety increased ten-fold. He'd thought he had out-thought every possible scenario that his mind could conjure up, but still his head was spinning with an endless flood of what-if's and outcomes. Whether it went well, badly, or if he didn't find them at all, he just wanted to get to Kansas and finally put an end to the nagging suspense.

Six days and fourteen hours into his road trip, Xander finally crossed the Lawrence city limits.

* * *

A/N: Just in case anyone was wondering, the largest ball of twine and largest prairie dog really can be found in Kansas. I discovered that little piece of info thanks to RoadSideAmerica dot com.


	5. Chapter 5

Xander stared at the greenish-gray, two-story house from his car across the street. Aside from the gnarled tree next to the driveway, the home looked inviting and well-kept. Xander wondered what it would have been like to grow up there. Had John and Mary Winchester been a happy couple? Was he the type of man to play ball with his sons in the front yard?

Xander's curiosity was warring with his anxiety as he tried to gather his courage. He'd been anxiously awaiting this moment since he left Sunnydale, and suddenly he couldn't make himself get out of the car. He couldn't even decide which possibility was more troubling, finding a lead or finding a dead end.

This was when one of Willow's pep talks would have come in handy. He looked out the passenger window, up the walk to the front door. He hadn't come this far just to chicken out. He felt sure Buffy wouldn't have been afraid, and surely he'd faced scarier things during his tenure on the hellmouth than whatever was behind that white door.

Xander took a deep breath, calmed his nerves as best he could, and opened the driver's side door. He by-passed a few children's toys on his way up the walk, and, in what seemed both too brief and too long an amount of time, he found himself shuffling nervously on the doorstep.

He took another deep breath, held it for a moment, and as he exhaled he raised a fist and gave a few quick, sharp knocks before his nerves could get the best of him. There was a few, brief seconds of silence, followed by some scuffling and voices, and then the door opened. At first he didn't see anyone and was puzzled, but then lowered his gaze to the young, dark-haired girl looking back up at him. "Hello," she said, as she regarded him curiously.

Xander hadn't known what to expect when the door opened, but he didn't think it was this. "Hi," Xander returned as he tried to sort his thoughts. It didn't seem likely the young girl could answer his questions. "Um…is your mom or dad home?"

At that moment the door was pulled back wider to reveal a pretty, blonde woman with a toddler balanced on her hip, "Sari, sweetie, you know you're not supposed to open the door without me here." She placed her free hand on the girl's shoulder and moved her further back into the safety of the house before turning her gaze on Xander, "Can I help you?"

"I'm not sure," Xander told her honestly, the moment of truth having finally arrived. "I'm looking for John Winchester."

She looked vaguely surprised, "I'm sorry, but he hasn't lived here in several years."

"No, I know that," Xander affirmed, "but I thought maybe you might know where he lived now, maybe he left a forwarding address or something. We're sort of family, well, I mean, we've never met, but I recently found out we were related and I had some spare time on my hands so I thought I'd see if maybe I could find him. All I know is that he used to live here, and I thought it couldn't hurt to ask…" Xander trailed off, stopping himself before he managed to spill his entire life story to the woman in front of him.

The toddler on her hip chose that moment to declare loudly, "Juice," while shaking an empty sippy cup in Xander's direction.

"Sorry," the woman gave him an apologetic smile. "Richie's a bit of a juice junky."

"Just wait till he discovers moon pies," Xander joked, forcing a chuckle through the suspense that was currently choking him.

She gave him a warm smile before continuing, "I've never met John, but Sam and Dean came by not too long ago to see their old place," her eyes glanced away then briefly before coming back to meet his, "I think they left town though."

"Do you know where they were heading?" Xander asked, clinging desperately to what little hope he had left.

His desperation must have shown on his face because the woman's expression was distressed when she told him, "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

Xander glanced down as though he might see the last bit of his hope sinking into the ground. "Well, it was worth a try," Xander looked back up at her and tried to smile but at this point it may have come out closer to a grimace. "It was nice meeting you…"

"Jenny," she supplied, and held out her free hand.

Xander shook it and said, "I'm Xander. Xander Harris."

"If I see them again, would you like me to tell them you're looking for them?" Jenny asked. "I don't know whether they'll be back or not. I kind of got the impression that they travel a lot."

Xander shrugged, if they traveled a lot it could be a long while before they came back, if they ever came back at all. It also meant it would be more difficult to track them down if they never stayed in one place for any long amount of time. "If you see them," Xander agreed, but added, "though they won't really know who I am."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Xander. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

Xander gave a half-shrug and a bitter-sweet smile, "That's okay. It was a long-shot, anyway."

Xander gave the family a wave before turning and making his way back down the front walk, his shoulders drooping in a disheartened slump. When he was half-way to the curb, Jenny's voice called out to him, "Xander, wait."

He turned to find Jenny approaching him. "There's this woman in town, a friend of the family, she might be able to tell you where to find them."

Xander grasped on to the possibility like a lifeline. "Do you know where I could find her?"

"Of course," Jenny complied.

Xander managed to dig a pen and a scrap of paper out of his pocket and copied down the directions Jenny gave him.

"Thank you," Xander told her sincerely, and this time managed a genuine smile.

He waved again, Richie sending back a sippy-cup wave of his own, before Xander turned and headed toward his car again, his steps much lighter this time.

* * *

People often thought having a psychic connection to the world would provide an exemption or at least some foresight to the surprises that no one else could seem to avoid. And while Missouri Mosely often knew more about what was going on in the world than most people, some days even she was caught off-guard by those curve-balls that life seemed so fond of throwing. Today was going to be one of those days.

It started off like any normal day, but days like that usually did because you never really suspected the wild turns till you were right upon them without any possibility of slowing down. She had just finished counseling a young woman who wanted to know if she was making the right decision in marrying her fiancé. Missouri thought the young man in question was likely the only man who had enough patience to put up with the girl's constant criticisms and complaints…though Missouri found a nicer, more flowery way of telling the girl that she and her boy were meant to be. After all, the girl was a paying customer.

She ushered the girl to the sitting room and saw her to the door, and then turned to greet her next client. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the dark-haired, sad-eyed boy sitting on her couch, and she was barely able to contain a gasp. No, she certainly hadn't seen this coming. "Oh my," she whispered, brining a hand to her mouth.

The boy stood up gingerly, looking around the room as though there had to be someone else that had elicited such a response from her; after all, she hadn't even heard his story yet. "I'm Xander," he offered. "I came to-"

"To find your father," she beat him to the chase.

This time, Xander's eyes widened dramatically as he gaped open-mouthed at her. She sometimes had that effect on people. "Goodness, but you're just the spittin' image of him, aren't you?" Xander seemed at a loss for words, and as he had never seen his father, he couldn't really comment on their likeness. But there was a definite resemblance.

The same thick, black hair, same soulful, brown eyes. He looked just like John only younger and less careworn. He lacked that air of despair that had cloaked John since the moment Mary had died.

Xander finally seemed to find his tongue, "How did you know?"

"Well, you came to a psychic. What did you expect?" she said, as if it should be obvious. Apparently Xander didn't have a response for that either. "Well, come on. Let's get you something to eat." She didn't give him a chance to protest, simply wandered into the house and left him no choice but to follow her if he intended to get any answers.

She entered the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table, and commanded, "Have a seat," before she began fixing Xander a sandwich. She knew how he liked it before she even had to ask. Turkey, with lettuce, tomato, and extra mayo. Xander could only sit and watch with a dumbfounded expression.

It was a habit Missouri had developed right along side her psychic abilities, treating strangers like people she'd always known. The truth was, after spending a few minutes with most people, she probably knew them better than they knew themselves. That wasn't to say she knew everything about them. She didn't get an entire history and she didn't automatically glean all their secrets, but she could get a general impression of a person's character and usually had a pretty good idea of what they were thinking at any given moment.

Missouri finished the sandwich and placed it in front of him, along with a cold can of Root Beer. "Well, go ahead," she urged. "These talks are no good on an empty stomach."

Xander shrugged, as though finally shaking off his confusion and dug into the sandwich. He seemed to be taking the situation in stride, like he had grown accustomed to dealing with the strange and surprising. Or maybe he just couldn't turn down food when it was offered to him. Growing boys always had a soft spot for food.

Xander turned to her, his mouth full of sandwich, and she scolded him before he could even form the question, "Boy, don't talk with your mouth full."

He blinked at her, swallowed the food in one painful gulp before it was even fully chewed, and then asked, "So you know my father?"

Missouri sighed and shook her head; he was definitely a Winchester. "Yes, I know him. I haven't talked to him in a while though." Xander looked discouraged at that and Missouri hastened to placate him before he lost his tenuous grasp on his new-found hope, "But that doesn't mean I won't be able to help you find him.

"John and the boys came through here a while back," she explained, "but they didn't stay long."

"Did they say where they were going?" Xander asked, his mouth still partially full of food. At Missouri's glare he quickly blushed and closed his mouth.

"I'm not sure," Missouri replied anyway. "They tend to travel all over the place." Missouri could sense Xander's curiosity at what it was that took his blood-family all over, but that was a question better answered by his father or brothers, so Missouri quickly continued, "I can call them though, ask them to come here." Or at least she'd be able to get a hold of Sam and Dean, as John was so often out-of-pocket that any calls to him might not yield results.

Xander stilled then and gulped the last of his sandwich down in one large swallow. "I don't know," he hemmed. "I mean, what if they're busy or something. I don't want to drag them away if they're right in the middle of something. Besides, they don't even know about me. I'm not so sure springing this on them is such a good idea. Maybe I should wait, or just let this go altogether."

Missouri frowned at him, thinking that stubbornness must be a genetic Winchester trait now that it was a proven characteristic in all four men. "Well, boy, you didn't come all this way for nothing."

Xander glanced away and his hands toyed nervously with his soda can, "It's just…what if…what if they…"

Missouri placed a comforting hand on his forearm, understanding his hesitancy even if he wasn't able to voice his concerns. "Honey, you'll never know until you meet them."

The words weren't exactly reassuring, but that didn't make them any less true. Xander could only sigh and nod, "Okay. But only if they're not busy. I don't want to be any trouble."

Missouri smiled widely, thinking to herself that she'd tell Dean and Sam whatever she had to in order to get them there. Good family was too scarce a commodity for all parties involved to let an opportunity like this pass them by. Even if she had to scare up a ghost, she was determined to get them there.

* * *

Sam had his head propped against the passenger-side window, eyes closed and soaking up the sunshine, as he tried to get what little shut-eye he could. Most nights, and days even, he was plagued by dreams and nightmares whenever he closed his eyes. Whatever unhindered rest he could manage was considered precious.

His current endeavor, however, was being seriously thwarted by Dean's ranting from the driver's seat. His older brother had been in a tizzy since they'd left the latest town and their most recent job behind some twenty minutes ago, and it seemed unlikely that his ire would calm anytime soon.

"I mean…you try to help someone," Dean gave the steering wheel an indignant thump, "and this is the thanks you get."

"Dean, man," Sam mumbled a complaint without bothering to open his eyes, "just let it go."

"Who the hell uses a haunting as a means for an insurance scam?"

Sam groaned and angled his body more toward the passenger-window in a vain attempt to block out his brother's incensed tirade.

"A wacko, that's who," Dean answered his own question. "Like it really would have worked."

Sam burrowed his body further in the car seat wishing he had a pillow to cover his head with and drown out his brother's voice…or simply to smother his brother with. Sam understood his brother's anger, it was justified…Sam just didn't see any reason to dwell on it.

They'd come across a small town in central Nebraska with its very own haunted house. Thinking it was their civil duty, being privy to the darker side of life as they were, to protect society and rid the world those things which sought to harm the innocent, they offered their services to the home's latest owner. But the owner, a cantankerous old man pushing seventy-two who had purchased the house only a week ago, would have none of it.

Dean and Sam assumed that he, like most other people, couldn't quite grasp the idea that ghosts and other things really did exist, and, rather than argue with the old man, they decided to take matters into their own hands.

How were they to know that the man had bought the house knowing full-well it was haunted. He paid for the house at a price half its value due to its reputation and then invested a load of insurance on the house with the intention of stirring up the ghost, letting it do its worst damage on the house, and then cashing in on the insurance money. So it was with great surprise that Sam and Dean banished the ghost, leaving the crotchety, old man with a near-pristine (though un-saleable) home only to have the old man go into a furious rage about how Sam and Dean had ruined his perfect scam as he chased them around the yard with a shovel.

"And I can't _believe_ that old son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to touch my car," Dean raved. During his tantrum, the old man had kicked the Impala as he yelled for them to get off his property. Sam had damn-near had to tackle Dean to keep him from pulling his sidearm and wasting the old man right then. It was a close call, but finally Dean had relented in favor of getting his beloved car as far away from the old man as quickly as possible. "You should have let me shoot the bastard," Dean reproached him.

Dean had been raging since the moment they sped off and showed no indication of letting up anytime soon. Sam spent about five minutes trying to calm him before finally giving up and leaning against the door with the futile intention of getting some sleep. As Sam desperately wished for some peace and quiet, a shrill noise filtered through his brother's angry tones, and Sam squinted his eyes open against the sun.

"I just don't know how he thought he was going to convince anybody, the damn fool."

Sam finally placed the sound and twisted in his seat toward Dean, "Dude, your phone."

"You know, we should have let that ghost nail his ass," Dean ignored him. "It would have served him right."

Sam gave an exasperated sigh, "Damnit, Dean, would you answer your phone?"

Dean finally seemed to register the offending sound and dug his cell out his pocket, bringing it to his ear. "Yeah," he yelled, voice still tinged with fury.

Sam rolled his eyes and hoped whoever was on the other end of line didn't value their hearing.

"Missouri?" Dean's voice had lost some of its heat, replaced instead with confusion.

Sam turned to regard his brother as he watched the somewhat stilted conversation take place.

"Why are you-… We're in Nebraska, why? What's-… I don't know, several hours at least, look, what's this abou-… Look, we can't just-… Fine! Geez, we'll get there as quick as we can, but you better have a good explanation when we- Hello…?" Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it as though he just might throw it out the window.

"What was that about?" Sam asked.

"Hell if I know, but it looks as though we're headed back to Lawrence." Dean jammed the phone back in his pocket, his previous anger now focused in a new direction. "That woman irritates the crap out of me."

"Well, did she say why?" Sam prodded.

"She wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details," Dean said, his gaze menacingly focused on the road as he maneuvered the car toward the exit for a south-bound highway.

"You don't think Jenny and the kids are in trouble again, do you?"

"I don't know," was Dean's clipped response.

"I mean…we were sure there was nothing else in that house. Do you think it could have something to do with Mom or the thing that killed her?"

"I don't know," Dean repeated, the words coming out even sharper this time.

Sam thought of another possibility, "We still don't know where Dad is, do you think it could be about him?"

"I don't know!" Dean yelled and turned to give Sam a heated glare before looking back at the road, his jaw clenched tightly.

Sam backed off and gave his brother a considering look, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

Sam guessed that was the most he was likely to get out of Dean. Sharing wasn't in Dean's nature, and when he could get away with it, he played things close to the chest.

Dean had been less than thrilled with their first homecoming to Lawrence. Sam had really been too young to remember their mother or their childhood home, but going back there had been a difficult experience, and if it was difficult for Sam, who had only the vaguest of memories, then it must have been twice as painful for Dean who had been older and could still remember details about their life before their mother's death.

Dean wouldn't talk about it though, and he wouldn't talk about their father's glaring absence in a situation where he should have been present. Sam figured he'd have better luck pulling his own teeth sans-anesthetic than getting Dean to participate in a heartfelt conversation.

"I guess we'll find out when we get there," Sam commented.

"Guess we will," Dean returned. His voice had lost some of its edge, but he didn't offer up any further conversation.

Sam had a feeling they had several long hours ahead of them.

* * *

Xander felt like he'd been on a roller-coaster all day. He had bounded back and forth between hopeful and hopeless in his search for his father, and now it seemed he was just hours away from a possible meeting.

Missouri was quite a character. Xander had seen a lot of bizarre things and met some strange people, but Missouri was the first psychic he'd ever met. He guessed that maybe psychics, as a general rule, had enough foresight to steer far clear of a hellmouth. It was a novel experience for Xander, although it was a little disconcerting that Missouri knew so much about him without even being told. She hadn't yet tried to strangle or dismember him though, so he was chalking this new acquaintance up to a positive experience.

In fact, Xander was almost thankful for Missouri because without her encouragement Xander may have backed out of the whole thing. Still, she had convinced him to make the call. Xander didn't know what she had told them to get them on their way; he knew she hadn't told them about him, thinking it was a conversation best had in person. All he knew is that they had been in Nebraska and were now headed towards Lawrence.

Shortly after the phone call, another client came to call on Missouri and she left Xander to his own devices in the kitchen. It was more than enough time for Xander's thoughts turn against him as he pictured all the things that could possibly go wrong. He was only marginally comforted by the fact that Missouri seemed to be an ally of sorts in this endeavor of his. If he had to face them alone, he was certain he couldn't go through with it.

In between customers seeking Missouri's guidance, she would check on Xander trying keep him occupied with a magazine to read or an offer of watching television. His reprieves were always short-lived, however, and his mind quickly found its way back to playing out scenarios where meeting his father and half-brothers went catastrophically wrong. Xander had always considered himself a fairly laid-back and likable guy. But what if they _didn't_ like him.

By now his anxiety had pushed him so far that he spent his time pacing, or sitting at the table drumming out endless rhythms with his hands, or tearing Missouri's paper napkins to shreds. And that was how Missouri found him after she dismissed her last client of the day, making a paper-snow mess on her table.

She grabbed what was left of the napkin out of his hand and scooped up the shreds, dumping them in the trash as she admonished, "You keep tearing up all the napkins and we won't have anything to wipe our hands on."

"Sorry," Xander said, but his nerves had progressed to the point that his voice sounded edgy on the verge of panic rather than apologetic.

"Sweetie, you need to relax," she told him, and while it sounded like solid advice, Xander didn't see it happening anytime tonight. "Things could be worse," Missouri confided. "That poor man's wife has gone from banging the gardener to banging the pool boy."

Xander raised his eyebrows, "How'd he take it?"

"What, and break that poor man's heart?"

"So you didn't tell him?" Xander questioned.

"He came here for reassurance, not for the truth."

"How do you know that?" Xander asked. He received the same look she always gave to someone whenever he or she asked how she _just knew_ anything. "Oh, right."

"He's a good man who deserves better," Missouri told him sadly. "I tell you, if I ever run across that skinny tramp of his, I have some choice words I'll be sharing with her."

Xander got the impression that he never wanted to get on Missouri's bad side.

"Now, come on," she motioned at him to stand. "I think it's about time we get some dinner on the stove. Do you know how to cook spaghetti?"

Xander stood with an alarmed expression, "I know how to boil water and that's about the extent of my knowledge."

Missouri waved off his trepidation, "You've got the first step then." She went to the sink and washed her hands before instructing Xander to do the same.

Missouri then pulled out a pot and gave it to Xander, who filled it with water and set it on the stove before turning the heat on under it. She pulled a package of hamburger meat out of the fridge, opened it, and dumped the meat into another bowl. Xander watched as she pulled various seasonings out of the cabinet and added them to the hamburger meat before sticking her hands in and mixing it around.

He made a disgusted face and Missouri warned him, "Don't turn up your nose, I expect you to help me with this." She finished scrambling up the meat and placed the bowl midway between them. Taking out a small handful, she rolled the meat between her hands till it formed a ball, and then she placed it in a nearby skillet.

Xander eyed the meat with dismay for a moment, before grabbing up his own handful and following Missouri's example. Apart from being slightly squishy, it wasn't as bad as Xander thought it would be. Certainly far better than cleaning up demon guts.

"So, are you able to predict the weather and lottery numbers?" Xander asked they continued to roll the meat.

"You think if I could predict the lottery I'd be living here making a living by counseling people too lost to keep their life together on their own?"

"No, I guess not," Xander conceded.

As they continued to work on dinner, Xander felt some of his tension ease away, enough that he was able to ask about the people he was soon to meet, "So, what are they like?"oHo

"Stubborn, hard-headed…often times more trouble than they're worth," the words were less than glowing but the affectionate smile on her face belied her true feelings for the family.

"Sam probably has the most sense of the bunch, I reckon he tends to take after his mother in that. Dean would argue the color of the sky just for the sake of argument, except when it comes to his father. He'd blindly follow that man into hell, no questions asked, if John told him to. And John, he's probably the most stubborn of them all."

Xander smiled, trying to put together an image of them in his head.

"He loves those boys, though," she told him. "He has his own way of showing it, but he's always trying to do what he thinks is best to protect them."

Missouri paused for a moment as she moved the meat pan to the stove and poured the pasta into the now boiling water.

She came back and sat at the table, and from the expression on her face Xander guessed what was coming next was not of the light, happy variety. "When John lost Mary it almost broke him. He was so lost…if it hadn't been for his boys needing him, I'm not sure what he would have done."

Xander looked down at his hands where they rested on the table and felt a surge of sympathy for a family he had yet to even meet.

Realizing they had strayed into a heavier topic, Missouri tried to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. "All the more reason why this is a good thing," she lightly patted Xander's hand. "You can never have too much family."

Xander's family back in Sunnydale seemed more likely to make him disagree, but he thought of Willow, Buffy, and Giles back home and figured, if he could consider them family, then the more the merrier in his book.

Missouri looked out the window to the darkening sky outside. "Shouldn't be too much longer before they get here," Missouri told him as she stood and moved to the stove.

"So, seeing as you're psychic and all, think you could give me a clue as to how this is all going to go down?"

Missouri gave him a coy look, "Well, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it? You shouldn't worry too much, I think this is all going to work out just fine."

Xander had sidled up next to her at the stove and was about to stick his finger in the pasta sauce for a taste when she thwacked his hand with a wooden spoon. Xander jerked his hand back to a safe distance and pouted. "So, how does that work anyway? Do you see the future or the past?"

"A little of both," Missouri hedged, trying to explain something that was not easily put into words. "It's more like having an extended sense of the present. I just get a little more information about things than most people are able to see. I get impressions about people and places."

Xander nodded and asked, "Can you read minds?" He tested it out before she even gave him an answer, "I'm thinking of a number between one and-"

"Seven," she answered, before his question was even out.

Xander startled and glanced at her, "But you can't do that all the time, right? I mean, you don't know what I'm thinking all the time at every second." Xander was having bad flashbacks to Buffy's short stint as a mind-reader. As a young, hot-blooded male, sex had had a constant occupation in his thoughts and that had lead to a rather humiliating experience for Xander that had sent him fleeing from Buffy's sight.

Missouri gave him a sly look, and Xander almost made a run for it right then, before she chuckled and shook her head. "Not quite," she assured him. "It's not like tuning into the radio. I only get a general sense of a person's thoughts, and that's usually only thoughts with strong emotion behind them."

Xander sighed in relief, "So how did you know what number I was thinking of, because anyone can tell you that numbers and I have never had a close, personal relationship. I don't think there were any warm fuzzies there."

"People always pick seven," Missouri said.

Xander stared at her for a moment before simply saying, "Huh. So do people who are kind of like space-cadets come across like the static on those snow channels on TV?"

Missouri laughed, "Sometimes." She stirred the pasta a couple times before scooping up a spoonful. She picked a spaghetti strand out and held it out to Xander, "Go ahead and sling it…see if it's done."

Xander just stared at her. "Uh…what?"

"You throw it at the fridge, and if it sticks, it's done," she explained.

Xander eyed the noodle warily as though he suspected it and Missouri were both conspiring to pull one over on him. "Go on," she shook the string at him.

"Okay," Xander took the string with no little amount of skepticism. Aiming as best as he could with a floppy string of pasta, he flung the noodle at the refrigerator's face. Xander's skeptical look melted into one of surprise when the noodle stuck to the appliance's cold surface.

Xander turned and grinned at Missouri. His first foray into the world of cooking (that didn't involve a microwave) was proving to be quite amusing.

"Looks like it's ready," Missouri informed him.

At that moment the sound of the front door opening could be heard and a loud voice called out from somewhere in the front of the house, "Hey, Missouri? Are you in here?"

Xander had gotten so involved in the cooking of the spaghetti that he had completely forgotten what it was they were waiting on. As the realization suddenly struck him that the voice more than likely belonged to someone in his distant family, he froze up; the tension and apprehension that had faded came back so forcefully that he was worried for a moment that his heart might actually stop.

Missouri gave his arm a vigorous rub before telling him to "take a deep breath."

She turned and headed out of the kitchen and it was all Xander could do to make his feet follow.

The moment the new arrivals were in sight Missouri jumped to scolding, an action that seemed to be second nature with her. "Didn't anyone ever to you it's polite to knock?"

As Xander moved around to stand off to the side and a little ways back of Missouri, he was finally able to get his first good look at the newcomers. There were two young men, both taller and several years older than Xander. The taller, younger one of the two looked contrite at Missouri's outburst, but the older, slightly shorter one, looked wholly unapologetic.

"We're here. Now do you want to tell me what the hell was so important that it had me breaking the speed limit to get here?" the older one griped before turning a critical eye on Xander.

The younger one was watchfully eying Xander now too, and Xander was suddenly reminded of all the disastrous scenarios that had beset his mind earlier.

Missouri, seeing where the men's attention had been drawn, decided to jump right into the situation headfirst. Without any sort of build-up, no lead-in whatsoever to soften the blow of such a bombshell, Missouri gestured at Xander and looked both men in the eyes, before spilling the revelation that would send the room into silence.

"Dean, Sam…I'd like for you to meet your brother."


	6. Chapter 6

When Dean was able to get his mouth to function again he said the first thing that came to mind, "Excuse me?"

Exasperation radiated off Missouri as she gave Dean a look, but he felt fairly justified in his confusion. He briefly wondered if it was too late to just turn around and head right back out the door.

Missouri began to explain patiently, or what passed for patience where Missouri was concerned, what was going on. "I know this is probably quite a shock for you boys, but it's true. He's your brother."

"Well, technically I'm more of a half-brother," the boy spoke for the first time.

Dean's eyes shifted sharply the dark-haired boy and he sarcastically bit out, without any real questioning in his tone, "Is that right?"

"It is," Missouri said firmly, drawing Dean's gaze back to her. "He's your father's son. I don't have any doubts about that."

"Right, 'cause you've never been wrong before," Dean remarked hotly, remembering when they were last in Lawrence and she had mistakenly pronounced Jenny's house as being spirit-free. Were it not for Sam's burgeoning intuition, Jenny and her kids might have died.

He glanced at Sam then, wondering how his brother was taking the information. Dean saw that his brother was doing his best gaping fish impression complete with furrowed brow. So much for any input from college boy.

"I'm right about this," Missouri returned just as hotly with such vehemence that Dean was swayed slightly toward believing her.

He turned a careful eye on the young man in question, his mind picking out little details that he wished he could ignore. The black hair, the familiar brown eyes, some similarities in bone structure. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, "So, what? You suddenly decided you wanted a reunion?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly at Dean's harsh tone as he hastened to explain, "Well, I only just found out. My mom told me about a month ago that-"

"Well, if you came looking for cash, you're barking up the wrong tree," Dean cut in, not really caring what the boy's story was. He took perverse pleasure in the dramatic way the boy paled.

"Xander, don't mind Dean. He lives with his foot in his mouth," Missouri practically growled. The look she sent Dean held enough heat to boil water, and Dean shrugged. It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to him.

"Why don't we start with some introductions," Missouri suggested. "Xander?" She turned to the boy on her right, who froze for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. "Don't worry, they won't bite," she assured him as she sent Dean a glance that seemed to say 'you damn well better not.'

The boy shuffled a moment before stretching out a hand to Sam, the closer of the two, and managed to stutter, "I'm Xander. Harris. Alexander Harris. Xander's short for Alexander, but most people call me Xander so I tend to just go by Xander."

Dean blinked in surprise at the torrent of words that came tumbling out of the boy's mouth and wondered if babbling was something that came naturally to him or if he actually had to work at it.

On Dean's left, Sam finally jolted out of his bewildered stupor to the call of social niceties and reached out to shake Xander's hand. "I'm Sam…Sam Winchester." Apparently, Sam had opted for the civil approach.

Xander reached his hand out to Dean next, though his stance and expression suggested physical contact was the last thing he wanted. Dean waited a beat, enjoying making the younger man squirm, before finally taking Xander's hand. He squeezed a little harder than necessary, relished the wince it produced, and gave an ironic grin. "I'm Dean. Nice to meet you," he said insincerely.

As he released Xander's hand, Dean's gaze slid over to Missouri who was glaring at him so fiercely that Dean seriously worried for a moment that she might set his hair ablaze with the fire in her eyes; however, he didn't recall her mentioning any pyrokinetic abilities. She looked like she was just waiting for the right moment to introduce her hand to the back of his head.

Now that Sam's initial shock seemed to have worn off, he was finally able to participate somewhat intelligently in the conversation. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry or anything," he began, showing the politeness you'd use with a stranger which Dean thought was really more lenient than the situation warranted, "but…I'm more than a little confused about how this all happened. Are you absolutely sure we're talking about the same man?"

Xander nervously wiped his hands on his jeans before offering, "As sure as I can be."

The kid was starting to look like he was wavering between puking, passing out, or possibly making a mad dash for the door, and Dean had to squash down the stirrings of pity.

Xander wrapped his arms around his chest in what looked like a self-hug and his next words came out in a tired, forlorn sounding voice, "About a month ago my mom told me that the man I'd always thought was my dad really wasn't. All she was able to tell me about my real father was that his name was John Winchester, he was from Kansas, and they met at a bar in California."

Sam dragged a hand through his mop of hair, "And when was that?"

Xander thought for a moment, "Well, I was born January twelfth of 1988. So, nine months before that…"

"April of '87," Dean supplied, quickly doing the math. A month before Sam's birthday. Sam was probably too young to remember, but Dean had a vague memory of his Dad bringing back a California souvenir as a birthday gift that same year. It certainly lent credence to Xander's story. "That would have been almost four years after Mom died," Dean stated.

"And we know Dad wasn't exactly a stranger to the bar scene," Sam added quietly.

Dean looked again at Xander, unable to dismiss the physical similarities. He still looked tense and pale, still hugged his arms tightly around his chest. Dean didn't want to feel anything for him, didn't want to acknowledge the sympathy that was already creeping into his chest, but it was difficult not to when the kid looked so vulnerable and bore such a strong resemblance to their father.

Dean looked to Missouri. She seemed to be imploring him with her gaze to do something about the situation, but Dean wasn't sure what it was she expected him to do. To be perfectly honest, he still wasn't sure why she had called them in the first place. Xander wasn't the only son looking for John Winchester.

"Well, at least there's one good thing about this situation." Everyone turned to look at Dean, and he shrugged and said the most relevant thing he could think of. "I'm not the shortest guy in the family anymore." He gave Xander a superior grin.

Missouri gave a fed-up huff. "Boy, I swear, you're about as useful as a toothless man at a pie-eating contest."

Dean's face screwed up in bewilderment as he visualized that image and tried to figure how it could possibly apply to him. Missouri had a special way of making Dean feel like he was her personal whipping boy.

Missouri looked at Xander, and her face clouded with sympathy. He was almost stark-white by now, and if Dean didn't know any better he might think Xander a ghost. The poor kid looked ready to kill over, and for a moment, a very _brief_ moment, Dean felt some slight regret for having treated him so callously.

Missouri seemed as much at loss as what to do as Dean was and finally just said, "Well, I suppose someone should check on the spaghetti."

"I'll do it!" Xander blurted out before bolting from the room.

Despite his growing feelings of guilt, Dean gave a small chortle at Xander's frightened flight. Mere seconds later he regretted it as he found Missouri's face just inches from his own. She pointed a stern finger at him and spoke in a low, dangerous voice that held just a hint of growl, "You better starting behaving, right now."

Dean gulped and tried to muster up a righteously indignant scowl, but it fell flat. Who knew Missouri could pull off scary so well?

"Hmph," Missouri scoffed, and then turned on her heel and walked off toward the kitchen.

Dean turned to Sam now, and all the amusement left his face as he let the reality of the situation really take hold. He knew Sam would read the question in his eyes; after all, 'what the hell is going on?' was a fairly simple question to catch even without words, and if anyone could read Dean's expressions, it was Sam. However, Sam, just as confused as Dean, could only offer up a shrug in answer before he cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen. Dean just nodded and they moved in unison toward the kitchen.

They didn't know what was going on, didn't know why Missouri was pushing this reunion so hard, but as long as Dean and Sam held a strong front, they had equal odds against whatever was going on with Xander and Missouri.

* * *

About five seconds into the meet-and-greet, Xander realized he had made a huge mistake. Another ten seconds after that and Xander was wishing he would just pass out, or spontaneously combust, or that the floor would open up and swallow him, or that he'd wake up to find this was all just a horrible, hellmouth-induced nightmare. Of course, things like that never happened when you actually wanted them to.

Instead, Xander was left in that room to endure the frosty regard of the older brother, Dean. Xander's heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach and his throat closed off from the awkward strain of the situation the moment Dean's eyes had flicked over to him and he'd seen nothing there but open hostility. The situation had gotten worse after that. All those worst-case-scenarios he'd imagined before had nothing on the disaster that the real thing was quickly becoming.

Sam was still largely an unknown, but shock could be delaying that reaction, and all Xander needed was a double-dose of new-brother hostility to really set his panic-meter skyrocketing.

When Xander's opportunity to get out of that room arrived he grabbed on to it like a drowning man grabs on to anything more substantial than water, and he wasn't too proud to admit he fled, yes, _fled_, from the room. And if the backdoor had been accessible from the kitchen, Xander probably would have fled out that too.

Xander's overwhelming panic was so familiar to the terror he felt in situations on the hellmouth that Xander's first reaction was to find a weapon. As he tried not to hyperventilate, Xander eyed the contents of the kitchen for possible weaponry. There was the wooden spoon, but that was probably only useful for killing vampires (which he was reasonably sure they weren't) or stirring the spaghetti (which it probably needed by now), not to mention Missouri probably wouldn't appreciate it if Xander damaged her utensils.

So Xander opted for door number two in the hope that if he just stirred the spaghetti long enough this whole situation would just go away. His mind had digressed to _breathe-stir-breathe-stir_, when he felt Missouri move in beside him.

She craned her neck slightly to look into the pot, "Spaghetti's looking good enough to eat." Xander wondered how she could manage to sound so calm when they were in such dire straits, as Giles would say. "Why don't you let me finish up here?"

Xander's breath hitched, and he turned desperate, pleading eyes to Missouri. If she took his spoon, he was likely to fall apart.

Missouri gave him a smile that was probably meant to be comforting but really only made him wish Willow were here, and she quietly prodded, "Go on."

Dean and Sam entered the kitchen then and Xander's grip on the spoon tightened till his knuckles turned white. When Missouri noticed them she suggested a bit louder to include the other boys, "Xander, you can help Sam set the table. Plates are in that cabinet," she gestured, "and there's silverware in the second drawer from the left."

Xander considered for a moment fighting Missouri for control of the spoon and making her pry it from his cold, dead fingers if need be, but at last he grudgingly relinquished his hold in favor of beating Sam to the dinner plates. Plates, after all, were shaped like Frisbees and could, therefore, be thrown as projectile weapons if necessary, Xander reasoned.

Xander wandered into the dining room carrying his make-shift weaponry, only now realizing that Sam was likely following with some sharp cutlery of his own that could just as easily be thrown at Xander's unprotected back. He resisted the urge the glance over his shoulder, but just barely.

Xander and Sam went about setting the table in quiet efficiency, avoiding eye contact for the most part, but occasionally sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. On the one occasion they happened to catch each other's glance, Xander saw Sam's lips twist in an unsure half-smile or possibly a grimace of distaste while Xander gave what could be interpreted as a nod of acknowledgement or a jerky, nervous twitch.

Once they were finished, they both stood around, hands shoved in pockets, and stared dumbly at the table until Dean, followed closely by Missouri who seemed to be watching him like a child that shouldn't be left unsupervised, carried in the spaghetti pot and set it in the middle of the table.

They all stood around for a few seconds until Missouri prompted them, "Well, dig in."

She took a seat on the far side of the table and Xander quickly took the seat to her right. Sam sat down in the seat opposite Xander, which only left the seat next to him and opposite Missouri for Dean. A thick, blanket of silence descended as they took turns scooping spaghetti out of the pot and filling their plates.

Xander stared down at his pasta. He couldn't stomach even the thought of eating right now, especially if he actually wanted the food to _stay_ in his stomach. He noticed that neither of the other men were eating either, instead simply moving the food around with their forks as though the were looking for a prize meatball buried under the noodles. In fact, the only person who seemed to be enjoying the meal was Missouri who was eating up the spaghetti as though she hadn't a care in the world.

_Lucky her_, Xander thought.

While Missouri happily chowed down, the silence was becoming more and more oppressive and awkward. It was like they were playing the quiet game, except without the winning and anything that even resembled fun. Or maybe, Xander thought, it was like the enigma of how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. Except, in this situation, it was how many minutes of silence until Xander cracks and completely freaks out.

Just when Xander thought the Tootsie-Pop-Xander mystery was about to be solved, Sam finally broke the silence. "So, Xander, um, where are you from?"

Xander coughed, checking to make sure his voice actually worked before finding out it didn't through some unmanly squeak, then answered, "California. Sunnydale to be exact."

"Do you go to school somewhere?" Sam asked.

So far Sam's questions were benign and easily answered. Maybe he wasn't going to be such a bad guy after all. "Actually, I just graduated high school a little over a week ago."

"That must have been exciting for you," Sam commented.

"Nah, it was hellish," Xander answered immediately without thinking, then realizing he might have given himself away (because surely most people would make the irrational leap from hellish to giant, man-eating mayor-snake), he added "you know, goofy robes, dorky hat, boring speeches. I'm just glad high school's done."

Sam gave him a dismayed look, and Xander wondered if maybe Sam was one of those Willow-types who considered school and all things academic as sacred. Sam's next question served as a confirmation of sorts, "Well, are you planning on going to college somewhere?"

So much for finding common ground with that brother, Xander thought, then answered, "Nah, I don't think the college scene is for me. High school was more than enough torture for me." In more ways than one, he added silently as he twirled some pasta around his fork and managed to choke down his first bite.

"Sammy, here, will be sorry to hear that. He's of the opinion that college life is the grandest thing on earth," Dean told him, and Xander thought his voice was slightly tinged with bitterness. "In fact, he was going college, probably not far from where you were, up in Stanford before I dragged him away on our little road trip."

"So, Will was right about that," Xander stated.

Sam eyed him curiously and asked, "Who was right about what?"

"My best friend Willow," Xander explained. "She's a whiz with computers and stuff; she even got an acceptance letter from Stanford. Anyway, when I found out about," Xander motioned his hand in the classic you-know gesture, "she did some research on the computer and found that you were John Winchester's son and registered at Stanford for a while."

Sam looked surprised, "She must be really resourceful if she managed to track all that down. So has she decided to go to Stanford?"

"Nah, she's going to go to UC Sunnydale. I guess we've all decided to stay close to the he-" Xander coughed suddenly, realizing that the hellmouth was probably not what he wanted to bring up as dinner conversation with relations he just met, and instead finished with, "happy homestead."

Both Sam and Dean looked at him oddly, so Xander quickly steered the conversation in another direction. "I guess she was wrong about you, though," he gestured with his fork in Dean's direction before getting another mouthful of spaghetti.

Dean frowned. "How so?"

Xander quickly swallowed his spaghetti, not wanting to get another earful from Missouri about talking with his mouth full, and said, "She found some information about a guy named Dean Winchester, but he was killed in St. Louis."

Dean just blinked. "Yeah, I guess she was wrong," Dean said flatly, but Xander was momentarily distracted by the choking noises suddenly coming from Sam. Sam coughed a bit, before waving in an I'm-fine motion and downing half his Root Beer in one swallow.

Xander turned back to Dean who gave Xander a moment's pause as he suddenly turned on a wide grin and flipped the conversation in another direction, "So, this Willow friend of yours, is she pretty?"

"Uh…" Xander had to think for a moment. The obvious answer to him was yes, but since their ill-fated fling he'd been trying to avoid thinking of his best friend in that light. "I guess," Xander finally answered.

"And she's eighteen, right?" Dean asked with a tilted head and a sly look in his eyes.

Xander's eyes narrowed and he felt his protective instincts rising up, but before he could say anything there was a muffled thump, followed by a loud bang as Dean's knee hit the table which left Dean gritting his teeth and alternating between rubbing his knee and shin as he glared across the table at Missouri. Xander suspected that Missouri had kicked Dean under the table, though you wouldn't know it from the nonchalant way she continued to delicately eat her pasta.

"So, Xander," Dean gritted out between clenched teeth, and Xander sincerely wished Missouri would stop pissing him off because Xander seemed to be the most obvious choice for Dean's resultant wrath. "Do you…" Dean seemed to have a hell of a time coming up with some small talk. He finally finished his question with, "…play any sports or anything?"

"Not so much," Xander answered despairingly. It certainly didn't seem he was going to get on Dean's good side anytime soon. "I was on the swim team in high school for a while, but then…" Xander trailed off. He'd never really realized until now just how difficult it was to talk about himself without mentioning any of the crazy crap that went on in Sunnydale. And it seemed unlikely that anyone outside the turn-a-blind-eye bubble that enveloped the hellmouth would hear a phrase like "but then the swim team turned into sea monsters and swam off into the deep blue" and chalk it up to some sudden, hysterical deafness and simply smile and nod politely. So Xander just sighed and finished lamely, "But it didn't work out."

Dean shrugged as if he could care less and returned to eating his spaghetti. Seeing an opening, Xander decided to ask a few questions of his own and try to get to know his half-brothers a little. "So, what do you guys do?"

"We travel," Dean answered shortly and was either oblivious or deliberately ignoring Missouri's glare at the mouthful of pasta he still had in his mouth when he spoke.

It didn't really answer Xander's question, and apparently Sam noticed because he tried to fill in some more, "We kind of move around from job to job."

"Really?" Xander asked, even more interested now. "What kind of work do you do?"

Sam seemed to stall for a second, and Dean shot an annoyed glance at both of them before answering, "We fix things."

"Like run-down houses and stuff?" Xander asked, thinking maybe they were traveling repair-men.

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered, seemingly bored with the conversation as he finished off his plate.

Sam gave Xander that unsure half-smile, half-grimace again, and Xander gave up on getting more informative answers out of either of them.

Missouri stood up then and began gathering empty dishes. Dean stood as well and stretched his arms above his head before he began, "Well, I hate to eat and run, but…"

Xander, getting the sense that Dean and Sam were about to bail, was both relieved and disappointed, until Missouri cut in with, "And just where do you think you're going?"

"You know what they say," Dean turned toward her and crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant stance, "time is money. We gotta hit the road."

"Ain't no money to be had at this time of night," she countered. "And there ain't nothing that can't wait till mornin', so you boys might as well stay the night here. Now you go and get the bedding. It's all in the hall linen-closet."

"Well, that's real sweet of you to offer Missouri," Dean said, sounding like he thought it was anything but, "and as much as I'd just _love_ to stick around, Sam and I really need to-"

"Dean Winchester," Missouri broke in, gearing up to a real tirade, "you really try my patience. Would it really be that hard for you to show a lick of sense every once in a while. I'm starting to think Sam and Xander are the only two who managed to inherit any brains."

"Hey!" Dean barked out, clearly offended, though Xander wasn't sure if it was because Missouri had called him brainless or because she said he had less brains than Xander.

"Now, if I have to tell you again," Missouri finished her rant, "I'm gonna drag you out back and give you what Patty gave the drum."

Dean just fumed, and the two seemed to be locked in a staring contest. Finally Dean threw his hands up in disgust. "Hall linen-closet?"

"That's right," Missouri told him once more. Dean turned to walk off, and, although he didn't actually say anything, Missouri called after him, "I heard that! Don't you cuss at me."

Dean didn't turn around, merely waved a dismissive hand behind him as he wander off through the rest of the house.

"Mmph, that boy," Missouri remarked as she carried the empty plates into the kitchen.

Xander and Sam gathered up the rest and followed Missouri into the kitchen to help her wash the dirty dishes and put things away. "Are you sure you don't mind putting us up for the night?" Sam asked, and Xander sensed he meant the question sincerely rather than as an attempt to get out of the offer. "If it's too much trouble we could always find a motel nearby."

"No, it's no trouble at all," Missouri placated him. "I'm sure I can find room for you all."

"I can crash on the couch," Xander suggested.

Missouri nodded and turned to Sam, "And you boys could take the spare room if you and Dean don't mind sharing the bed."

Sam just shrugged and turned to Xander, "Are you sure you're all right with the couch?"

"Yeah, I can sleep anywhere," Xander confirmed. The couch was certainly better than a sleeping bag in the backyard during a freak, Californian blizzard, which was how Xander had spent his most recent Christmas Eve.

Dean came into the kitchen then carrying a bundle of sheets, "Do you realize all of your sheets have flowers on them?"

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my sheets?" Missouri placed a hand on her hip.

Dean just sighed and shook his head, "Forget I said anything. Here, you get the pink flowers." Dean smirked as he tossed said sheets at Xander who just barely managed to catch them.

"We've got the guest bed," Sam informed Dean of the sleeping arrangements.

"Damn right we do," Dean muttered under his breath. "I'm gonna go put these on," he motioned to the other room with the sheets, "will you grab our stuff from the car?" Sam nodded.

Dean left for the guest room while Sam headed outside, and Xander gave Missouri a nod before taking his sheets and going toward the living room to get himself set up on the couch.

* * *

By the time Sam came back in with his and Dean's stuff, Xander was already passed out on the couch. As he watched Xander's sleeping form from the doorway, Sam found himself wishing he could click-off as easily as Xander apparently could, but Sam's mind was always too full of dark thoughts to find the kind of peace that enabled easy sleep.

Missouri sidled up near his right side and peered in the room with him. "Poor kid," she said kindly. "He's had a rough day."

"I know how he feels," Sam said, giving her a knowing and slightly accusatory glance. He wasn't really angry with Missouri, though.

That was more Dean's style, which he made apparent as he came up on Sam's left side and muttered angrily, without bothering to lower his voice, "Well, he's not the only one who's had a rough day."

"Shhh," Missouri shushed Dean, and Sam worried for a moment he might have to dodge her hand if she made to slap Dean.

She turned back to the sleeping figure to see if Dean had woken him, but Xander's breathing was still slow and even, and he hadn't even so much as stirred a little at Dean's outburst. Dean craned his neck to peek around the corner and remarked, "Man. That kid sleeps like the dead."

Missouri rolled her eyes and asked Sam, "Are you sure you don't mind sharing a bed with this bozo? I'm sure there's more than enough floor-space for him to sleep on."

Sam chuckled and had to admit that he loved seeing Missouri give his brother a ribbing like few ever could. "I'll manage," Sam told her. The truth was they'd both slept in much less savory conditions on their many travels, and they had long ago grown accustomed to sleeping at any time in any given situation. "Besides, I don't get much sleep these days, anyway."

Sam saw Dean glance at him from the corner of his eye, but he avoided his gaze. For all Dean's no-chick-flick-moment rules, the guy could be a real mother hen.

Missouri watched Xander for a bit longer before turning to Sam and rubbing his arm. "I'll see y'all in the morning." She smiled at them both, "It's good to see you boys again." And despite having bickered with him all night, she gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze as she passed him on the way to her bedroom.

Sam regarded his brother out of the corner of his eye, watching for a reaction as he carefully said, "Xander seems like a fairly okay guy."

"He's a bit odd, though," Dean added while his expression remained unchanged. He gave a put-upon sigh that Sam thought was probably mostly fake and said, "But I guess he's all right."

Dean turned and made his way to the guest bedroom and a brief second later Sam followed. Dean had already pulled his shirt off and was stuffing it into his bag when Sam asked, "Do you think Dad knows?"

Dean froze for a moment, then casually began to toe off his boots. "I don't know. I kind of doubt it. I seriously doubt Dad intentionally let something like this happen, assuming we even believe it's true."

Sam cant his head to the side, "You mean you don't?"

Dean turned to face him, "How do we know he isn't lying?"

Sam gave a short, astounded scoff. "Have you even looked at him?" Sam asked. When Dean looked away and didn't say anything, Sam knew he had his answer. Dean had noticed, just like Sam had, the startlingly similar traits that echoed so closely of their father. "Hell, he looks more like Dad than we do."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Dean contradicted, but his argument felt empty.

"Missouri thinks it's true," Sam countered.

"I'm not so sure I'd gamble on anything Missouri said," Dean stated.

"Well, I think she's right."

Dean gave him a look that was somewhere between anger, worry, and annoyance, "Is that some more of your intuition?"

This time Sam looked away. The last time they'd been in Lawrence, Sam had sensed something was still in Jenny's house. Part of it felt wrong, while part of it felt different. Like family…like home. When he saw his mother he finally understood why he'd been feeling that, and also realized something that he hadn't noticed until then. He had the same feeling around Dean. With their Dad gone missing, Dean was the only family Sam had and the closest thing he had to a sense of home, and lately he had noticed that he could almost sense when Dean was around. He didn't know whether it was because they were family or if it was just apart of the new abilities Sam seemed to be developing; either way, it didn't really matter, because Xander, though to a much lesser extent than Dean or their Mom, felt a little like family to Sam too.

"I don't know. It might be." Sam quietly answered Dean's question causing Dean to sigh. If Dean found Sam's new abilities so frustrating, Sam thought Dean should try actually _having them_ for a while and see how he liked them.

Sam pulled his own shirt off and began rifling through his things. He paused for a moment and carefully asked over his shoulder, "Hey, Dean, does it…does it bother you?"

Dean finished with his stuff and tossed his bag in the corner of the room. "Does what bother me?" he asked as he climbed onto the bed.

"That dad was with a woman other than mom?" What Sam knew about his mother was mostly from pictures and stories Dean had told him when they were kids. But Dean could still remember a few things about their mom, certainly a lot more than Sam, who had only been six months old when she died.

Dean was a quiet for a long moment before he finally answered in a tired voice, "Look, Sam. Dad's his own man and he doesn't need permission from me on what he can and can't do."

"That's not what I mean. It's just…you remember more about mom than I do, I thought maybe you'd-"

"Sam, can we _not_ have this conversation?" Dean cut in. "It's late, I'm exhausted, and I have every intention getting out of this town as early as possible tomorrow. Whatever Missouri says be damned." Dean rolled over then, facing the wall and putting his back to Sam, and effectively ended the conversation.

Sam finished changing and put his stuff away before turning off the light and taking the other side of the bed.

"And don't hog the covers, bitch," Dean warned.

"I hope that's not what you say to all those girls you pick up," Sam commented.

"Shut up and go to sleep," Dean commanded.

"Jerk," Sam muttered, though the word held more humor and affection than it did venom. As Sam drifted off to sleep, hoping like he did every night that tonight he wouldn't fall prey to his nightmares, he thought that, no matter what Dean might say, Missouri was not likely to let them get away that easy.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was unkindly ripped from the blissful arms of sleep by the sound of music. The strains of what sounded like a rhythm and blues song filtered through the bedroom door, and while the tune didn't necessarily sound bad, it certainly didn't hold a candle to classic rock. Dean put forth his best effort to ignore it, even tried pulling his pillow up around his ears, but he still couldn't block out the smooth melody. Once Dean was awake, it was almost impossible for him to reclaim his restful state.

Chalking his plan for sleeping in up to a lost cause, Dean threw back the covers and dragged himself out of bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he yawned and blearily looked about the room. Finding his bag in the corner where he'd left it last night, Dean brought it over to the bed and pulled out some decent clothes to change into.

The other side of the bed was empty meaning Sam was already up and about somewhere. Dean rarely managed to wake before Sam these days. When Dean finished changing, he left the guest bedroom and noticed that out in the hallway the volume level of the music nearly doubled, putting it somewhere in the audio range of blaring.

All the ruckus was clearly coming from the kitchen, but Dean wandered over to the living room's entryway first. Peering in, he found Xander still spread out on his stomach on the couch, one arm hanging over the edge, almost touching the floor.

Dean frowned, thinking surely no one could sleep through the racket currently permeating the house, and called out, "Hey, are you awake?"

When his call received no response he called again, louder this time, "Hey, Xander!"

This time, when Xander remained motionless, a small thread worry started to twist its way through Dean and he made it to the couch in three quick strides, sighing in relief as he made out the rise and fall of Xander's breathing. Apparently, all his years of demon hunting had started to make Dean overly paranoid.

He was also a little annoyed at the surge of concern that had risen up in him for the younger man. Whatever Xander represented in the family scheme of things, Dean had been so determined to keep a closed gate on the family triangle that had up until now only consisted of Sam, his father, and himself. They had had only each other to depend on for so long that when it came to his father and brother, Dean could be fiercely loyal and protective. He wasn't about to let just anyone into his close-knit circle, no matter their relation. But it had only been one day and already Dean could feel the familiar big-brother instincts, that till now had been reserved for Sam alone, stirring in regard to Xander.

He wanted to blame Sam for it. Dean would have been happy to bury himself in denial and disbelief, but Sam had seemed convinced last night that Xander was their brother, and that left little choice for Dean but to believe it as well. You didn't leave family in an uncertain circumstance without back-up, so if Sam was going into this situation headfirst then Dean would have to too. Where one brother went, the other followed; it was as simple as that.

Dean gave Xander's shoulder a slight shake in a last-ditch effort to wake him, but Xander continued to sleep on, blissfully unaware. "Huh. He really does sleep like the dead," Dean said softly, thinking at least one person in the house would get to sleep in today.

Dean made his way to the kitchen, then, where he found Sam leaning against the kitchen counter, cup of coffee in hand, while Missouri stood by the stove stirring batter in a bowl and singing along with the radio in a surprisingly good voice.

"Well it's about time you woke up," she said when she noticed him.

"It's not like I had any choice in the matter," Dean complained. "Do you wake up the whole neighborhood this way every day?"

Missouri held the bowl in one hand and put her other hand on her hip as she turned to face him, "Are you saying there's something wrong with my singing?"

Dean threw his hands up in surrender, "Wouldn't dream of it." It was way too early to start the old married couple routine, Dean thought, and moved to take a seat at the small kitchen table near the wall. "So aren't you going to ask how your guest slept last night?"

Missouri gave him a dismissive look before pouring out small circles of batter onto a griddle on the stove. "Well, considering you've already slept a good portion of the morning away, it couldn't have been that bad."

"It's only 9 a.m.!" Dean proclaimed indignantly. Sam sat down at the table across from Dean then, holding two cups of coffee, one of which he slid across the table in front of Dean.

"Which is late in the day by some people's standards," Missouri informed him as the scent of pancakes wafted into the air.

"Yeah, well some people don't live the exciting kind of night life that we do, " Dean remarked before downing a couple swallows of coffee.

Missouri ignored his poor excuse and instead found another aspect about him that she could criticize, "And haven't you ever heard of a comb?"

Dean gave her an affronted look and raised a hand to the disastrous case of bed-head he currently sported. The hair on one side was flattened to his head while the other half stuck straight up. "Chicks dig this look," he defended.

Missouri eyed him doubtfully, "You just keep telling yourself that, honey."

Xander stumbled through the doorway then, looking asleep on his feet and asked with his eyes still half-closed, "Do I smell pancakes?" It would seem all it took to wake the dead was the smell of food cooking.

"Blueberry," Missouri answered him cheerfully.

Xander stood, swaying, in the middle of the kitchen as he rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself. Dean watched him for a moment, before pushing out the chair between Sam and himself with his foot in a wordless invitation. The hint filtered through Xander's sleep-addled brain and he moved mechanically to the seat.

"Did you sleep all right, Xander?" Missouri asked, and Dean shot her an incredulous stare, wondering why Xander got such polite treatment when he'd been so spectacularly snubbed. Sam laughed at the exchange as he stood and moved toward the coffee pot.

"Mmm hmm," Xander managed around a yawn. Sam returned with the coffee pot and another cup of coffee which he placed in front of Xander before refilling his and Dean's cups.

"Well if he did, it wasn't thanks to your musical wake-up call," Dean harped again.

"There was music?" Xander asked sleepily, noticing at that moment the cup of coffee that had miraculously appeared before him as he grabbed it and gulped half of it down in one go.

"Only loud enough to wake half the city," Dean replied. "How did you manage to sleep through it?"

Missouri came over and placed some empty plates and silverware on the table along with some blueberry syrup.

"It's a gift," Xander shrugged, now starting to look more awake than asleep.

Dean shook his head. "Well, you're luckier than I was. I wouldn't have been able to block that out with ear plugs and a load of pillows."

Missouri came over to the table again, this time with a dangerously tall stack of pancakes and gave Dean a warning look. "You better mind your manners if you intend to get any breakfast this morning."

She held the plate out to Xander, and he forked six pancakes onto his plate which he proceeded to douse with syrup.

"Dude," Sam exclaimed with astonished amusement. "Where are you going to put all that?"

"Oh, don't worry," Xander told him, "I'll find room. Willow has this theory that I've got a second stomach specifically for all sugar-saturated foods."

Sam chuckled. "Hey, Dean, maybe that's what you've got," Sam teased Dean, who was already piling up his own healthy-sized stack of pancakes before following Xander's example and smothering them in syrup.

"Right. Says the doughnut king," he shot back.

Missouri moved around the table and took the seat across from Xander, "Well, I don't know how you boys stay so skinny with as much junk food as you put away."

"We're growing boys," Dean answered for all them.

The morning seemed to have lost most of yesterday's tension somewhere in the night, and Dean, who had managed to cool off considerably, couldn't seem to find it in him to keep giving Xander a hard time. Overall, the mood had shifted to a calmer vibe which allowed them to eat their breakfast together in a fairly companionable atmosphere.

"Well, if you boys grow much taller you'll have to duck to get through doorways," Missouri cautioned them.

"I don't know," Xander raised a shoulder in a half-shrug, "I think I could stand to grow a couple more inches."

"No way," Dean disagreed. "I refuse to go back to being the shortest. I'm the oldest, and it just isn't right."

Xander smirked around a mouthful of pancake.

"It's bad enough as it is that Sam is taller than I am," Dean continued.

Sam chuckled, "If you think it's bad for you, imagine how Dad felt when I outgrew him." Sam seemed to realize what he'd said a second after it came out of his mouth, and at the thought of their father the amusement left his face.

Missouri must have sensed the change because she jumped in in an effort to keep the conversation moving, "It looks like it's going to be a nice day. You boys should go find something to do in town."

Sam turned to her with an interested look, "Like what?"

"Well, you could catch a movie," Missouri suggested, "or I always enjoy a good game of miniature golf."

Dean frowned. "Actually, Sam and I should probably hit the road soon."

"You really aren't one for sticking around long, are you?" Xander piped up, and Dean glanced at him in surprise. It looked like sugar and a good night's sleep went a long way to putting some spark in Xander. Dean wasn't sure he liked that much.

"We could, you know," Sam put in. "We don't really have to be anywhere right now. We could stick around for a few days."

Dean's eyes narrowed at Sam. "I thought you were the one who was so dead set on finding that thing we were looking for."

Sam's voice took on some edge, "Well it's not like we're any closer to finding it now than we were when we first started. I don't see what difference a few days will make."

"Did you guys lose something?" Xander asked warily, no doubt confused at the tension that had seeped into the conversation.

"Not exactly," Dean answered him, his eyes still riveted on Sam. He was rather shocked at Sam's sudden indifference to the search for the father. Sam's feelings about their father's disappearance had been pushed to a new level of intensity when Dean's desperate phone call hadn't produced any results the last time they were in Lawrence. That Sam was so ready to put those feelings on hold surprised Dean, and he guessed this thing with Xander must have thrown Sam for more of a loop than Dean had previously thought.

Dean continued his endeavor to make a point, "Besides that, we still have a job to do."

"Yeah, well, I think we're about due a break from our _job_ and now's just as good a time as any to take it," Sam's voice rose a bit.

Dean didn't know what Sam was getting so worked up over, but he'd had just about enough, "Yeah, well, I say no, and since I'm older, what I say goes."

Sam looked as though what he was about to say next was going to be less than flattering, and Missouri quickly cut in with her own suggestion. "Why don't you just take Xander with you? You can keep moving and still get to know each other better."

"What?" Dean said sharply, his head snapping around to look at her.

"I'm sure Xander doesn't have any set plans," Missouri added, sending a questioning look at Xander.

Xander appeared interested at the idea as he said, "Yeah, I just planned to travel around as much of the U.S. as I could, see some new places. Wherever you guys are going is probably just as good a place as any."

"I really don't that's such a good idea," Dean finally got a word in.

Xander rolled his eyes, misinterpreting Dean's resistance, "Look, I can pay my own way and stuff. Whatever you might think, I'm really not here to try to swindle you."

Dean winced at having his words thrown back at him. He had really meant only half of what of what he'd been saying yesterday and meant even less of it today. He was surprised that Xander would even consider going with them after the way Dean had acted yesterday, which Dean had to admit had not been one of his shining moments, but Dean guessed Xander was reluctant to let the only connection he'd found to his real father just walk away.

"That's not what I was getting at," Dean said, trying his best to sound believable. "You see, when Sam and I are on a job, we really need to be focused."

"Right…" Xander drawled sarcastically, "'cause having a long-lost brother tag along would really screw with a person's ability to perform delicate tasks such as window cleaning. That must require real dedication," Xander snarked.

"Hey!" Dean corrected, "We don't do windows." Dean was wishing he'd put a little more thought into their cover-story now.

"Then fixing pipes or walls or whatever it is you do," Xander amended.

"Besides, that's not the point I'm trying to make," Dean was beginning to think he didn't have a point at all. "You'd probably just be bored hanging around with us anyway. Our jobs aren't really all that exciting." Of course, in reality, their jobs were usually _too_ exciting.

"I don't mind," Xander returned. They'd all given up any pretense of eating by now.

"Yeah, but-" Dean started, only to be cut off by Xander.

"And if it's that big of a deal then we can just travel together until we get wherever you're going next and then I'll head off on my own again," Xander implored.

Dean decided this had gone long enough, and told Xander firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Look, Xander. No offense, but I just don't think this is a good idea, all right?"

Xander pasted on a smile with such a quick turn-around that Dean was a bit thrown. "Yeah, sure. Hey, it's no big deal," Xander said easily. "Actually, there's this mustard museum in Wisconsin I've been jonesing to see."

"Uh…what?" Dean said, trying to wrap his mind around a museum for mustard and figure out just how the conversation had ended up there.

"Xander, would you and Sam mind going to the post office and checking my box for me? The post office is just a few blocks back of here." Missouri asked kindly, then added much less kindly with a little bite, "Dean here's going to help me wash up these dishes."

"Yeah, sure," Xander complied and stood up. Missouri got up and retrieved her box key before handing it over to Xander and returning to her seat.

Xander went to leave, and Sam stood up to follow without so much as a word and shot Dean a less than warm look as he did. Dean got the feeling he hadn't won himself any points with either one of them.

"Damn," Dean said and gave a tired sigh after they were gone. "Well, that could have gone better."

"Yeah, you've got about as much tact as an elephant has grace in a china shop," Missouri agreed.

"Hey, at least I was trying," Dean said in his defense. "You're not exactly the queen of finesse yourself. What the hell were thinking dropping this on us without any kind of warning?"

"If I had told you what this was all about when I called, would you have even come?" Missouri asked him seriously.

"Honestly?" Dean thought about it. "I probably wouldn't have even believed you."

"But you do now?" Missouri asked.

Dean shrugged, "Sam does."

"But I wasn't asking Sam," Missouri prodded gently. As much as Missouri liked to keep Dean on the ropes, she had just as much of a soft spot for him as she did for Sam, and Dean got the feeling she was trying to push him into some kind of heartfelt conversation.

Never one to give into such things easily, Dean couldn't stop himself from smartly replying, "What? You can't tell just from reading my mind?"

Missouri rolled her eyes and gave an aggravated huff, "Boy, I'd have better luck talking to a brick wall than to you."

Missouri stared at him with an expectant look, and at length Dean realized he wasn't going to get out of this. "I believe it," he muttered, looking away. "I just don't know what to do about it."

"Well, like said, you should take Xander with you."

Dean looked back at her and his face registered his bewildered incredulity, "Yeah, and back to that, what the hell were you thinking suggesting that?"

"Boy, quit cussin' at me," Missouri said sharply. "And why not take Xander along?"

"Well, for starters," Dean began gearing up for a rant, "what exactly are we supposed to tell him when we run into some ghost or creature that we have to take care of?"

"Well, you could always tell him the truth."

Dean mock-considered the option, "Well, it would probably be the quickest way to run him off." Missouri's response to that was to whack him upside the head. Dean flinched back and scowled at her, rubbing the back of his skull. "Now that's really uncalled for."

Missouri paid him no attention. "I think Xander would be more capable of handling the truth than you give him credit for."

"Okay, let's assume he can handle it," Dean conceded. "It would still be putting him unnecessarily in harm's way. With the kind of stuff Sam and I get into, Xander could get hurt or even killed."

Missouri just grinned, and Dean's face screwed in up confusion. "What?"

"You like him, don't you?"

"What?" Dean nearly squeaked, the statement seemingly coming out of left field. "No I don't."

"You like him," Missouri stated more firmly. "And the idea of letting in someone new really bothers you."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, "What, are you my psychiatrist now?"

"No, I'm psychic," she reminded him. "And I have a feeling you're going to need Xander on this trip."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," Missouri confessed. "I just get the feeling it's important for you boys to stick together."

Dean eyed her warily, "And how do I know this isn't just another ploy to get me to do what you want?"

Missouri just shrugged and grinned.

Dean dropped his head in his hands and let out a muffled groan. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."

* * *

Xander and Sam had walked for a couple of blocks without talking when Sam finally broke the silence. "I know Dean can be an ass at times, but he's really not that bad once you get to know him."

"Not that that seems likely to happen anytime soon," Xander returned.

"I don't know. Missouri's not one to just let things go. If anyone can bully Dean into doing something, it's her."

"Yeah," Xander chuckled, thinking of the incessant way Missouri had been harassing Dean since the moment they'd arrived. "Hey, I'm sorry if I'm causing problems between you two."

"Don't worry about it," Sam said, glancing over at him before shaking his head. "Dean and I…we manage to get into our fair share of arguments all on our own. This is nothing new, it's just kind of the way things work."

They fell quiet again and walked on a little further before Sam turned to Xander, a grin quirking his lips, "Is there really a mustard museum in Wisconsin?"

"Oh, you betchya." Xander returned the grin. "I've also made it my personal goal to get a picture of every Muffler Man in the United States."

Sam laughed, "Sounds like you're going to have a busy summer. Where all have you been so far?"

"Well, there was Las Vegas which, by the way, was not as cool as it sounds," Xander told him.

"Dean would be sorry to hear he missed that stop. He likes to think he's a hot-shot hustler," Sam shared conspiratorially.

"Yeah, well, apparently all those all-you-can-eat buffets you hear about in Las Vegas are all-you-can-eat only because they've already made you pay an arm and a leg to get in the door," Xander complained. "I decided to skip the Grand Canyon, not because I have a fear of heights so much as a fear of _falling _from them. Then there was Roswell."

"See any aliens?" Sam asking jokingly.

"No, but man do they love their Tabasco sauce." Xander and Sam finally reached the post office and scanned through the rows of boxes in search of Missouri's number. "And those Texans, can I just say they are very proud of their state."

They found Missouri's box, and Xander pulled the key out and opened it, pulling out a couple envelopes and a copy of the Lawrence daily newspaper. "Hey, you think there's a Psychic's Weekly or a Fortune Teller's Journal out there that Missouri can get a subscription to?"

"You know," Sam said, furrowing his brow in thought, "it's never really occurred to me before."

"Maybe there's a union even," Xander postulated. "Though I can't imagine what those meetings would be like. _I foresee that we shall go on strike next week, and because I sense a storm coming, well shall adjourn today's meeting early_."

Sam laughed, "It'd be interesting to see." They made their way out of the post office and began heading back toward Missouri's house. "So, I guess you must be missing your friends."

"Yeah, it's weird," Xander said.

"How so?" Sam asked, turning to look at him.

"Well, I've wanted to get away for so long – not from my friends, of course, they're great – but Sunnydale isn't at the top of the greatest-places-on-Earth list. Still, part of me wishes I were already back there. I keep wondering what they must be doing right now." Xander could picture them having fun at the Bronze, or sitting around researching the latest creature-feature (though not at the library anymore). He found himself feeling extremely homesick. Even for the researching and Giles's long-winded, off-topic, demon trivia.

"I've been keeping in touch with Willow from the road though. She keeps me updated on what's going on with Giles and Buffy."

"Buffy?" Sam questioned, quirking an eyebrow at the strange name.

Xander smiled, "Yep, and it's not just a nickname. Buffy, Willow, and I all hung out together in the library throughout high school. That's kind of how we met Giles, he was the librarian. He kind of became our den mother, except in the British-guy sense of the word. Though I don't know what he'll do now that the school's blown-up."

"Blown-up?" Sam asked, shocked, as though he might have heard him incorrectly.

"Yeah…" Xander drawled, realizing he'd let slip something he hadn't really meant to say and wracked his brain trying to remember the story that had run in the papers. "There was a leak in the gas main, took the whole school down on graduation day."

"Jesus," Sam said in shock.

"Yeah, and my diploma was apparently a casualty. So much for proof that I actually survived high school."

"It's just a good thing _you_ made it out okay," Sam commented.

"Yeah…not everyone was so lucky." Xander looked to the ground, thinking of all the people who _hadn't_ managed to live through the experience that was high school. "Maybe Giles will get a job at the local museum now that the library is obliterated. I think that's what he did before he moved to Sunnydale."

"So, do you have any guy friends closer to your age?" Sam asked.

"Well, there's Oz. He's Willow's boyfriend," Xander explained. "He's more the man-of-few-words type." Not to mention they hadn't exactly been bosom buddies since the disaster with Spike in that old warehouse. There wasn't really any lingering resentment over it, but it had to be difficult to be buddy-buddy with a guy who'd made out with your girlfriend.

"Then there was Jesse, he was a good friend of mine, but, uh…" Xander faltered a bit, remembering more painful memories that he rarely thought about anymore. "He, uh, died not long after Buffy moved to Sunnydale."

"I'm sorry, man," Sam commiserated.

Xander nodded, then steered the conversation toward Sam, "What about you? You miss your friends?"

"Yeah, I do. Mostly, I miss the way things were back then. Things seemed simpler." Sam appeared lost in thought.

"So then why did you leave Stanford?" Xander asked. Sam glance briefly at him before glancing away and shoving his hands in his pockets. Xander thought maybe he'd touched on something too personal, so he added, "I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

"There, uh," Sam's voice caught and he cleared his throat before starting again. "There was a fire, and my girlfriend, Jess…she died."

Xander wanted to slap himself. He hadn't meant to bring up something so painful. Sam continued before Xander could apologize, "After that, I just…couldn't stick around. I left with Dean, and we've been doing this ever since."

They walked on in silence, and finally Xander could just make out Missouri's house down the street. He looked to Sam, trying to gauge the older man's mood. Missouri had said that John had been with the two brothers when they'd come to Lawrence last time, and he couldn't help but notice the man's conspicuous absence. The question of his whereabouts had been burning on the tip of Xander's tongue since they'd arrived, but there'd never been a good time to ask. Xander chewed his lip nervously for a moment, then finally decided to just bite the bullet.

"So, why didn't your dad come with you this time?" Xander asked, using _your_ because he didn't yet feel he had enough of a claim to call John Winchester _his_ father.

"The truth is," Sam started, "we're not even sure where Dad-" Sam cut off abruptly, turning to look at him with an expression Xander couldn't quite place. "What do you mean this time?" he asked with a burning intensity.

Xander shrugged, "Well, Missouri said you all three came through here a while back." They had reached the gate to Missouri's yard by now.

"Are you sure she didn't mean just me and Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes still pinning Xander with a fierce look.

Xander thought back, but he distinctly remembered Missouri saying _John and the boys_, and since John was whom Xander had been looking for, Xander wasn't likely to forget such a detail. "Yeah, I'm sure. She said it was you guys and John."

Something in Sam's face hardened then, and he took off toward the house at an angry pace without offering any explanation.

Xander hurried worriedly after him with the feeling that he'd just said something very wrong, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.


	8. Chapter 8

Missouri should have knocked on wood when the thought that _things are going well_ crossed her mind. She thought her biggest worry was getting Dean to agree to take Xander along with them, and, though he hadn't agreed yet, she thought she might be wearing him down.

As far as she was concerned, things could be a lot worse. And like in any clichéd movie where simply saying it seemed to bring about the situation, a jinx was formed.

Little did she know that Dean Winchester's stubborn streak was about to become the least of her problems, because Dean's stubbornness didn't hold a candle to the whirlwind that was a Sam Winchester tantrum. A cynic would have said she should have seen this coming, and she lamented that, while foresight could be helpful, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

While Missouri and Dean washed dishes, they continued to argue the merits of having Xander as a traveling companion. They finished with the dishes, and Missouri had just finished draining the kitchen sink, when the crap hit the fan, so to speak. The sound of the front door slamming open echoed into the kitchen, and Missouri knew well before she saw him that she was in big trouble.

Dean's instincts kicked in and his body tensed with alertness at the sudden noise.

Sam marched into the kitchen, his face lit with the fury of a hurricane, and shouted at Missouri, "How the hell could you keep something like this from us?" Xander followed after, hot on Sam's heels, with a vague look of confused guilt in his eyes.

"Sam, what the hell is going on?" Dean asked before Missouri could attempt a defense. When Sam had left, he'd been upset with Dean, and now he'd returned furious with Missouri, no doubt confusing Dean with the sudden shift of focus.

"All that time we were here, you _knew_ how worried we were and you didn't say anything. Hell, you practically lied right to our faces! All that faked sympathy about how our dad was missing." Sam's words were like the sharp edge of a knife, bursting out of him with such force that his shoulders were nearly shaking with anger.

Dean looked at Missouri, and understanding dawned in his eyes. Missouri didn't say anything, but the guilt on her face spoke volumes. Dean's features hardened, but instead of saying something to Missouri he turned to Xander, "Hey, Xander, could you give us a few minutes?" It must have been a strain to get the words out so evenly.

Xander's eyes flew back and forth between the room's occupants, searching for some clue as to what was going on. He attempted an easy shrug which he only barely managed to pull off and said, "Sure, I'll…uh…I'll just wait outside." He turned around and sent a concerned glance back over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

When he was gone, Dean looked between Sam and Missouri and asked, "Does somebody want to tell me exactly what the hell is going on here?"

"Dad was here," Sam said, looking briefly at Dean before turning his fierce gaze back to Missouri. "Back when we were here helping Jenny, Dad was here too. Why the hell didn't you tell us?" Sam asked her.

Missouri held his gaze, "Your father didn't want you to know."

"Why not?" Sam's eyes flashed, and he threw his arms up in an angry, questioning gesture.

Missouri had asked John that same question and had wanted to slap him silly for his unreasonable stubbornness. "I don't know what goes on in that head of his. You'd have to ask him."

Sam's rage seemed to boil over at that, and he quickly advanced on Missouri, "Well we _can't_, can we? We don't even know where the hell he is!"

"Hey!" Dean shouted, quickly stepping between the two and pushing Sam back out of Missouri's face. "Just calm down, man."

Sam shoved Dean back, "What the hell do you mean _calm down_. Haven't you heard anything I've said?"

"Yeah, I heard, but you need to take a deep breath and step it down a bit. And you sure as hell don't need to be bitching at Missouri about this. Dad wouldn't have asked her not to tell if he didn't think it was important that we not know."

"What the hell?" Sam gave a humorless scoff as he shot Dean a confused, betrayed look. "Are you defending him?"

"All I'm saying is, Dad knows what he's doing and if he didn't want us to know he was here, then there must have been a damn good reason." Though John wasn't even present, Dean was still playing mediator between his father and his brother.

Sam brought a hand up and momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose before giving Dean a look of absolute incomprehension. "We've been searching for Dad for months, Dean! We didn't know if he was in some kind of trouble…hell, for all we knew he could've been dead. What the hell kind of reason could he have for not at least letting us know he was alive. Especially with everything that happened in that house while we were here. And why didn't _you_ tell us?" he asked, turning renewed anger on Missouri.

"Maybe I should have," Missouri admitted. "Lord knows I wanted to, but once your father gets something in his head…" she trailed off. "He thought he might be on to something, and he wanted to keep you boys out of harm's way until he knew more."

"That's assuming he _ever_ had any intention of telling us. Meanwhile, we're running around, wasting our time on some wild goose chase, and he's keeping us completely in the dark! We have just as much right to hunt this thing as he does."

"Dad will let us in on this when the time is right," Dean told him firmly. "In the meantime, we still have a job to do."

"No, Dean, the only person who thinks this is _just a job_ is _you_. It's a hell of a lot more than that to me."

Dean's eyes flared with righteous indignation and he stepped in closer to Sam. "You think I don't have just as much invested in this as you? This is our _family_. You, me, and Dad. I'm in this just as much as you are, and, in case you've forgotten, you're not the only one who's ever lost someone."

Sam's hands clinched into tight fists, and for a tense moment Missouri thought he was going to take a swing at his brother, but then the air rushed out of his lungs in a shaky breath, and he ran his hands over his face. When he pulled his hands away, his expression had fallen to one of defeat. "You know what? Just forget it," his voice came out rough and strained, and he waved his arms dismissively before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

Missouri and Dean heard the front door open and close, and Dean turned to her. His expression was unreadable, and he simply stared at her for a long moment before turning and following in the direction Sam had gone.

Not long after, Missouri heard the front door open and close again, and she moved to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily. She propped an elbow on the table and leaned her head in her hand, closing her eyes. "John Winchester," she muttered bitterly. "Wherever you are, your boys need you."

* * *

Sam was moving so fast that he was halfway down Missouri's front walk before Xander even registered that he'd come out the front door. Xander stood from his seat on the Missouri's front steps and called after him, "Hey, are you all right?"

Sam just waved a dismissive hand and continued on. The front door opened again, and Xander turned around to see Dean. "Should we go after him?" Xander asked, jerking a thumb in Sam's direction.

"No," Dean looked to where Sam was now making his way down the street and shook his head. "He'll be back once he's cooled down a bit." Dean's eyes continued to trail after Sam, and Xander shrugged and reclaimed his seat on the steps.

After a few minutes Xander look up at Dean, whose eyes were still focused presumably on Sam somewhere in the distance, and cautiously voiced, "So, I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess I'm not exactly seeing the big picture here."

Dean looked down at him and Xander got the feeling he was being measured up. Just when Xander was sure Dean was going to stonewall him again, Dean surprised him by sitting down on the steps next to him.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Did Sam tell you anything about our dad?" he asked, looking at Xander.

Xander shook his head, and Dean said, "Well, let's just say that Sam and our Dad rarely see eye-to-eye on anything. When Sam decided to head off to college, Dad got pissed. He thought Sam should stick close to the family."

Xander gave a surprised breath, "My dad would be happy to get me out of the house. Well, I mean, my step-dad I guess," Xander corrected, not really sure what to call Tony anymore. There was Tony, whom the term dad had never really been a fitting title for, and now there was John, whom Xander hadn't even met yet and, therefore, didn't feel particularly comfortable labeling him as 'dad' either. Basically, it left him with two father figures, neither of which seemed capable of filling the role at the moment.

Dean gave him a considering look and Xander once again got the feeling that Dean was measuring him up. "The two of you didn't get along?" Dean asked, eying him carefully.

"He always kind of treated me like a stray that you just can't get rid of because you fed it once and then it wouldn't go away. Willow says my puppy-dog pout would get me almost anywhere," Xander joked, missing the way Dean's jaw clenched and his eyes darkened.

"He sounds like a jerk, no offense," Dean remarked.

"Yeah," Xander shrugged a shoulder. "But at least with all this," he said, referring to the revelation of his true parentage, "it makes more sense now."

Dean just shook his head, and Xander remembered Dean's story, "So what happened when Sam left?"

Dean got back on track and continued, "Some words were exchanged and, basically, Dad told Sam if he left, he shouldn't come back. They haven't spoken to each other since."

Xander frowned in confusion, "But Missouri said-"

"Yeah," Dean cut in, bitterness tingeing his voice. "See, several months ago, Dad kind of went off on his own, and I wasn't really sure what had happened to him. That's when I went and got Sam, and we started looking for him."

Xander was stunned. No wonder Sam was so volatile; first his girlfriend dies, and then his dad, whom he hasn't spoken to in years, goes missing. "So, if you guys didn't come to Lawrence together last time…" Xander trailed off, trying to fit the last few pieces together.

"Dad was here, Sam and I just didn't _know_ about it."

"And Missouri knew," Xander stated, finally getting the whole picture, "but she didn't tell you guys."

"Bingo," Dean said as Xander summed up the situation. "Add it all together and shake it up, and you've got one pissed off Sammy."

"What about you?" Xander asked, and Dean looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, are you, um…okay?" Xander asked awkwardly.

"There's something we need to get straight right now," Dean said firmly. He stared at Xander seriously, and Xander got the sick feeling that he had somehow walked into an out-of-bounds zone without meaning to. Dean waited a beat, then said stoically, "I don't do chick flick moments."

Xander blinked at him for a moment before the words finally sunk in and he gave a relieved snort. It would seem his newfound half-brother was a bit of a smart ass, but Xander had to grudgingly admit he was already starting to like the guy.

"Then I should probably warn you," Xander said, "that both of my best friends are chicks."

"Hey!" Dean raised his hands and attempted to set the record straight, "I didn't say I had anything against the chicks themselves. Now," Dean clapped his hands his hand then rubbed them together in a mischievous fashion, "tell me about these girls of yours."

Xander eyed him warily for a moment before finally sharing. "Well, I already mentioned Willow-"

"Who's pretty," Dean remember.

"And taken," Xander warned.

Dean shrugged, and Xander continued, "And then there's Buffy-"

"Buffy?" Dean burst out laughing, once again cutting Xander off. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

"I wouldn't ever mention that to _her_ if I were you," Xander advised.

"Why?" Dean asked. "She's not built like a linebacker or something, is she?"

"No, she's rather short and slim, but she can pack a hell of a punch," Xander warned.

"Mmm…a firecracker, huh? I like girls with some attitude."

"You don't know the half of it," Xander muttered under his breath.

Xander suddenly noticed that he still had Missouri's mail in his hands and held the envelopes up as he said, "I guess I better get these to Missouri."

Dean nodded at him, and Xander stood to go into the house. He found Missouri sitting quietly at the kitchen table and laid her mail on the table in front of her. Xander paused a moment, and then said, "I'm sorry if I let the cat out of the bag just now."

Missouri looked up at him with reassurance in her eyes, "You don't have any reason to be sorry, you didn't know. And besides, that secret was bound to come out sooner or later."

Xander worried his bottom lip with his teeth and shuffled his feet. He still wasn't clear on what was going on between Sam, Dean, and John, but he wasn't sure if he should pry.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day? Or are you going to sit down and ask what you want to know?" Missouri finally pushed.

Xander smiled and pulled out a chair. "The thing is, I'm not really sure what to ask. I guess I just don't really get what's going on between them. I mean, why wouldn't their dad want them to know where he is?"

Missouri grimaced, "Well, I'm afraid there's not a lot I can tell you. It's not really my place to tell. John has his own way of doing things, and can't nobody tell him different. Winchester men can be as stubborn as mules, and John Winchester is the most stubborn mule of the whole lot." Xander laughed, and Missouri looked crossly at him, "What are you laughing about? The stubborn gene didn't miss you either."

Her tone was scolding, but instead of feeling repentant he felt happily included.

"Well I hope Dean isn't giving you a hard time," Missouri commented.

"Hey," Dean called out, walking into the kitchen at just that moment (which is probably why Missouri had made the remark in the first place). "Give me a little credit. I can be nice guy sometimes."

Missouri regarded him disbelievingly. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Dean thumped Xander on the shoulder, "Tell her."

"Oh, yeah," Xander backed him up. "He was a totally decent guy for at least a full five minutes."

Missouri gave Dean a gloating smirk, and Dean turned to Xander with a betrayed expression, and placed a hand over his heart. "That hurts, dude. You're causing me some real pain here."

Missouri looked at her watch to find the time was quickly nearing noon. "Sam better hurry back if he intends to get any lunch."

"Sam's not likely to come back till he's damn well ready," Dean informed them.

"What are we having?" Xander asked. Like any young man, he was always ready to eat.

"Dean's going to fix some sandwiches," Missouri said, drafting Dean without bothering to ask him first.

There was a chirping noise from Dean's pocket, and he dug his cell out as he said, "Woman, why are you always harassing me?"

"Because you usually deserve it," Missouri told him. "And if you don't, then it's only because you haven't gotten around to doing something to deserve it yet."

When Dean didn't respond, Missouri and Xander turned to look at him. He was staring at the display on his phone with a frown of extreme concentration.

"What is it?" Xander asked.

"It's a text message," Dean said absently.

"Who's it from?" Xander asked.

Dean didn't answer, instead he looked up at Missouri and asked, "Do you a U.S. map?"

Missouri nodded, went to retrieve the map, and came back seconds later. She handed it to Dean who took it and spread it out on the kitchen table. His fingers traced over the map's perpendicular lines, coming to rest at some point in the southeastern states. "Huh," was all Dean said, which didn't really clear up anything for Xander.

Xander looked to Missouri. She didn't look quite as lost as he did, so either she knew more about what was going on than he did or her psychic link giving her some insight that Xander wasn't privy to. Either way, he was extremely curious. "What's going on?"

"It looks like Sammy and I just found our next job," Dean told him.

"That's what the text message was about?" Xander asked.

Dean nodded, "We've got a location."

"So who sent the message?"

Dean sighed and gave a slight shrug. "Sometimes Sam and I get coordinates from our dad…places where we can find jobs."

Xander's eyes widened in surprise, "Is he going to meet you there?"

Dean gave his head a slight shake, "I don't know. He's done this once before…and he didn't show then. I guess we won't know this time till we get there."

"So I guess you'll be leaving. Got room for an extra traveler?" Xander asked, trying to keep the hopefulness from his voice.

Dean glanced up at him briefly before turning his eyes back to the map. "Not this trip, Xander," his words were apologetic, but firm.

"Dean Winchester," Missouri began, her tone making it evident that she was just gearing up for a long rant, but Dean cut her off with a stern voice.

"Missouri, we've been over this. The answer is no."

Xander laughed nervously, trying to stall any fighting on his behalf. "Hey, no worries. I've got places to go, oddities to see."

"Mule," Missouri muttered at Dean.

Dean's jaw clenched, but didn't say anything in return. Without looking at either of them, he folded up the map, stuffed it in his pocket, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Don't worry, Xander. It isn't over till the fat lady sings," Missouri advised.

The corner of Xander's mouth quirked up in a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. Xander couldn't help but feel that the only chance he had of finding his real father was slipping away from him.

* * *

Sam had set off with no destination in mind, and didn't stop walking until he found a small park several blocks from Missouri's house. He dropped onto a park bench, hunched over till his elbows rested on his knees, and leaned his head into his hands. He focused on his breathing, trying to expel his anger with every exhale.

They'd been on the road for about seven months now, and Sam was beginning to feel like he was at his breaking point. Dean kept telling him he needed to have patience and stop carrying his anger around like a security blanket before it destroyed him, but the image of Jessica, pinned to the ceiling and engulfed in flames, was always in his mind's eye and he just couldn't shake it. Sometimes she even haunted his waking moments, not that Sam would begrudge her that. He'd see her standing on a street corner, or sometimes, just out of the corner of his eye, he'd see a brief flash of white gown and long blonde hair. She was never far from his thoughts.

His anger was his other constant companion. It built up in him like a bonfire and raged until it nearly consumed everything around him. He was angry with the thing that killed Jess and his mom, angry with himself, with his father, with Dean, with Missouri. He was starting to run out of people to be angry with, and destroying random ghosts and demons just wasn't enough anymore. Given enough time, every fire will burn itself out, and the fury that burned in Sam's blood was running dangerously low on fuel. And when Sam wasn't consumed with anger, he felt hollow and tired. Dean wanted Sam to let his anger go, but Sam had to hold on, because once the anger was gone, he had nothing left, and even guilt and rage were better than feeling completely empty.

As the minutes ticked by, Sam could feel his anger subsiding, though it wasn't much of a relief as he felt it being replaced by a numbness that was becoming alarmingly too familiar. Sam was almost afraid that if he completely let go of his anger, he'd stop feeling altogether. The only thing driving him was finding and destroying Jessica's killer, and Sam worried what would become of him when they finally accomplished that.

Sam ran his hands through his hair and sighed. The day wasn't even half way over and already he felt exhausted. After another ten or fifteen minutes had passed, he pushed himself off the park bench and slowly began plodding his way back to Missouri's house. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him, avoiding the yards of happy families where children chased each other. His return trip took longer than his exodus had, but eventually Sam once again found himself in front of Missouri's gate.

Dean was sitting on the steps of Missouri's house, and as Sam made his way down the front walk, Dean stood up to meet him. "We need to talk," Dean said.

"What?" Sam asked with a tired sigh. Dean looked at him as though were reconsidering what he was about to say in light up Sam's almost apathetic mood. "Just say it."

Without further preamble, Dean said, "I got a text message from Dad. Coordinates."

"Like how he sent us to Lost Creek?" Sam asked.

"Or maybe he's going to meet us there this time," Dean suggested.

"Or maybe," Sam contradicted, "this is his way of keeping us occupied while he tracks down the thing that killed Mom and Jess." The words should have come out angry, but Sam could only manage to instill them with weary frustration.

Dean looked at Sam and frowned. "The way I figure it, we've got two options: we could try searching for Dad, but I've got a feeling Dad's not going to be found until he wants to be found; or we can follow these coordinates, and maybe help some people. Now, you're the college boy, which one do you think sounds more productive?"

"What about Xander?" Sam asked. Sam didn't know yet where this new relation was going to fit in, but he had to admit that Xander had perked his curiosity. And this was the first time in a long while that Sam had shown interest in something that wasn't about hunting. Sam didn't know yet if he wanted to pursue any kind of relationship, but he wasn't ready to dismiss the possibility yet either.

Dean looked at him as if he'd gone off track, "What about him?"

"Are we just going to leave him here?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't see what choice we have."

Sam thought a moment, "Why can't we just take him along?"

"And the job?" Dean asked.

"Maybe we could tell him," Sam suggested. "And if there's a chance that Dad will be there…don't you think Xander should be there too?"

Dean pursed his lips and looked at the ground for a long moment. When he looked back up at Sam his expression was serious, and he spoke in a calm, quiet voice. "Okay, let's really think about this for minute. Say we tell him, and by some miracle he doesn't think we're completely nuts. We're not talking about fairies and unicorns here, we're talking about making nightmares a reality for him. Once he knows about this stuff, he'll never be able to go back. Are you really ready to force that on him?"

Sam dropped his eyes to the ground, already knowing that Dean was right. Sure, they'd told people the truth before, but it was always in circumstances where the situation had forced their hand. There was an obvious choice here, and was it really fair to just arbitrarily change someone's life when it wasn't really necessary?

The front door opened, and Missouri leaned out the door. "You boys better get in here and make yourselves a sandwich." She shut the door back.

Sam took a shaky breath before looking back up at Dean and thickly forcing out his next words, "I don't think I do this anymore." Dean looked startled at the strain in Sam's voice, but Sam continued anyway, "If you want to go to these coordinates, go ahead. But I can't go with you this time." His words came out in a simple, matter-of-fact sort of way, without any anger, but Sam still had to look away from the pained expression on Dean's face.

"I'm sorry," Sam muttered before moving past Dean, up the front steps, and into the house.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Thanks for all the reviews:)

* * *

Lunch was an exercise in agony. Xander attempted a few failed jokes, and Missouri vainly tried to throw out some conversation starters, but both were met with silence from Sam and Dean.

For his part, Dean was completely oblivious to Missouri and Xander's desperate efforts to lighten the atmosphere. He chewed his sandwich mechanically and stared at the table to avoid looking at Sam, which excluded everyone else from his gaze as well. Dean may have been sitting right at the table with them, but he was about as reachable as a penny on the bottom of the ocean.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had felt so conflicted about a situation. He felt he had to go. It may have only been a text message from their father, easily ignored by Sam, but, to Dean, an order was an order. Sam, on the other hand, had never been one to jump through hoops on their father's command, and he certainly didn't seem to have any intention of jumping through this particular hoop. Then there was Xander, who had indicated a couple of times that he wanted to go only to get shot down by Dean.

So, Dean couldn't stay, Sam wouldn't go, and Xander wanted to go but couldn't. The real irony was that Dean wasn't all that inclined to go himself, especially if he had to go alone. Sam had once argued that Dean could hunt by himself, and what Dean had told him then still held true now. Dean didn't _want_ to hunt alone. When Dean was hunting with Sam at his back, it seemed like they were just two guys, brothers, who were doing a job, taking on evil one creature at a time, and making a difference. But when Dean hunted alone, it felt like he was just one guy against all the dark and terrible things in the world, and suddenly the odds seemed overwhelmingly against him. All the devils that seemed terrifying in the dark were even more so when you didn't have someone to watch your back.

All in all, no one sitting at that table was pitching a tent in the happy camping grounds.

When Dean couldn't stomach eating anymore, he wordlessly rose from the table and went to the guest room to pack up his stuff. They always traveled light, with the exception of the arsenal that could be found in the secret compartment of the Impala's trunk, so it didn't take Dean long to gather his things. Dean had a moment's pause at the sight of Sam's bag still sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, a physical reminder that Sam would be staying behind this time. He found himself wishing he could come up with an excuse, any excuse at all, not to leave.

He left the room and headed for the front door. Missouri was standing at the entryway, staring out the screen door into yard, and she turned to him when he approached. She didn't say anything, but Dean already knew everything she was thinking without having to hear the words. She didn't think he should go, didn't think he should leave Xander behind, certainly didn't think he should leave with the way things were between Sam and himself, and, to be honest, Dean couldn't think of any point on which he disagreed with her.

But, unfortunately, that didn't change anything. Dean gave her a nod, shouldered past her, and went out the door. Sam was there on the porch, leaning against the wall and watching his shoes as though the laces were some particularly engrossing puzzle. Xander was on the porch too, sitting on the steps, and when Dean came out, Xander stood.

"So I guess you're leaving?" Xander asked, gesturing to the duffle hanging from Dean's shoulder.

"Guess so," Dean answered, casting another look at Sam. Sam's eyes still hadn't left the ground, and Dean might have thought Sam was ignoring him if he hadn't noticed the tension in his shoulders and his clenched fists.

"See ya, Sammy," Dean said quietly.

Sam glanced up at him then, and his eyes had a slight sheen to them. He swallowed thickly and gave Dean a nod, but couldn't seem to get any words out. Dean turned and made his way down the steps, and Xander followed behind.

"So, I'm not sure when I'll see you again," Xander said, and Dean's chest tightened at the truth behind the words.

"Yep," Dean confirmed. It could be weeks, or months even, before Dean saw Sam or Xander again. _If_ he ever saw them again, and in the monster-hunting business that could be a big if. They reached the Impala, and Dean opened the trunk, stowed his stuff, and turned to face Xander.

"Wish you could stay," Xander voiced.

And, damn, but Dean wished he could too. Still, the voice of common sense, which sounded a lot like his father's voice in his head, was telling him it was time to go.

Xander sighed at the lack of response and held his hand out as he finally gave up and said, "Well, it was nice meeting you."

Dean looked back up toward the house. Sam was still standing on the porch, watching them with as much confliction in his eyes as Dean was feeling at that moment. He briefly wondered if he took Xander with him, would Sam still stay behind? But he could hear his common sense and father's voice listing all the reasons why that was a bad idea. If John Winchester were there, he'd have no issues leaving both Xander and Sam behind. Hell, he probably would have been gone long before now. The thing of it, though, was that John Winchester _wasn't_ there.

Dean paused a moment, and then instead of taking Xander's hand he crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his to the side, and gave Xander a measuring look.

Xander's face fell a bit at the action, and he dropped his hand, quickly shoving it in his pocket. He shrugged off the slight, somehow managed to paste on an easy grin, and said, "Be sure to bring back lots of souvenirs."

Dean's expressions stayed the same, and he continued to stare at Xander a moment before jerking his head in the direction of the Impala. "Well, if you're going you better get your stuff in the car. I'm out of here in five minutes."

Xander stared at him blankly for a moment until the words finally seemed to sink in. His eyes widened and his lips began to form a grin "Are you serious?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm serious about that five minutes," Dean glanced at his watch. "Make that four minutes and fifty seconds." Dean gave him a pointed look.

Xander spun and began moving toward the house, but just as quickly he jerked to a stop and turned back around with a suspicious expression on his face, "You're not planning to leave me on the side of the road somewhere, are you?"

"Dude," Dean gave him a genuinely affronted look. "I'm not that much of a jerk. I just don't think that junker of yours will make it where we're going. Besides, no sense wasting gas if we're going to the same place."

Xander nodded in acceptance and took off for the house again, nearly running over Sam in the process.

Sam jumped aside to avoid Xander, then slowly made his way down the walk to where Dean was standing. Dean leaned back against he Impala, and Sam mimicked the stance, leaning beside him. "I thought you said it was a bad to take Xander," Sam said.

"I did," Dean said.

"What made you change your mind?" Sam asked.

"I didn't. This might still be a big mistake."

Sam thought for a moment, "And what about protecting him from the truth?"

Dean shrugged, "I figure what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Sam laughed humorlessly, "I can't count the number of things wrong with that statement."

"Yeah, yeah…so my logic is screwed up," Dean conceded with a grimace.

Sam looked up toward the house with a thoughtful frown, and for a moment Dean couldn't guess what Sam was thinking. "You won't fool him for long with the crap cover-stories you come up with," Sam warned him. He sighed. "Besides, it'd just be cruel to make him put up with your sorry ass all by himself."

"Are you saying you've changed your mind about staying?" Dean cut to the chase.

"If you still have room for one more," Sam said.

Dean gave him a cross look, "Well, I'm not sure. You did just insult my intelligence and then called me an ass. Remind me again why I'd want to drag you along."

Sam ignored the barb. "Listen, Dean. About before-"

Dean held his right hand up and stalled whatever Sam was about to say. "I told Xander five minutes, which means," Dean looked at his watch, "that you now have exactly two."

Sam just smirked and nodded, and then added as he moved toward the house, "Save my seat."

Missouri came down the walk wearing a smug grin and carrying a few sandwiches in zip lock bags. "Here," Missouri pushed the bags off to Dean. "These will probably be the most healthy thing you boys eat for days."

"Don't think you had anything to do with this," Dean told her, a little irked at that smug grin she kept flashing at him.

"Oh believe me," Missouri replied, "I know better than to think anyone could talk good sense to a Winchester. Whatever caused you to change your mind, I'm sure it wasn't me."

"I don't know that you could call this good sense. In fact, I'm just waiting for this to come back and bite me on the ass." Dean placed the sandwiches in the back seat, then muttered as an afterthought, "Probably literally."

Missouri shook her head. "Boy, you worry too much."

Xander came running out the front door then, jumping down the steps and nearly sprinting down the front walk. "Hey," Xander panted when he reached them, and Dean had to hold back a grin. "I got my stuff." He gestured to the duffle bag on his shoulder.

Sam came out the front door and walked toward them at a much more sedate pace. Dean went around to the trunk again and opened it so Sam and Xander could put their stuff in.

Sam tossed his stuff in first, and Xander paused, looking at something near the rear of the Impala. "Is that a boot print?" Xander asked.

Sam snickered, and Dean scowled. "Just get in the car." He grabbed Xander's bag and dropped it in the trunk before shutting the lid, muttering about a _crazy old bastard_ as he did.

"You boys take care of each other, you hear?" Missouri advised.

"We will," Sam told her seriously.

"We'll probably come back by after we finish this job," Dean said. After all, Xander couldn't ride around with them indefinitely.

"I'll be watchin' for you then," Missouri said.

"So where are we heading anyway?" Sam asked.

"Waiverton, North Carolina," Dean told him. They said their goodbyes, and then Dean, Sam, and Xander got in the car and left.

* * *

Only forty-five minutes into the drive, Dean was ready to reach over into the backseat and strangle Xander. The kid just would not stop talking, and the volume on the stereo would only go so high. If he started up a mantra of 'are we there yet?' Dean really would strangle him.

They had just passed through some small Kansas town, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of place, named Littleville or something. Xander had already insulted Dean's taste in music…twice, which, to Dean, was already enough to warrant letting Xander walk the rest of the way. Now Xander wanted to play a game.

"Come on," Xander pleaded, having to lean over the seatback in order to be heard over Dean's music. "We can't seriously listen to this crap the whole way."

"Dude," Dean turned to him with a glare, "That is the _third_ time you've insulted my music. One more time, and you're hitchin' your way back."

"I'm going stir crazy back here," Xander complained. "Come on, just one game. It's easy all you have to do is…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a red-and-blue something blur past the car. It was moving too fast to really make out any details, but for some reason Dean got a vague impression of plaid. He looked down at the speedometer. They were going sixty miles per hour, so whatever it was had to move at inhuman speeds.

"…is for apple." Xander was saying, and then he turned to Dean. "Okay, now it's your turn. Repeat what I said, and then add something for the letter B."

"Did you guys see that?" Dean asked. He craned his neck to look out the windows, and then back out the windshield trying to see where whatever it was had gone.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to change the subject, you're not getting out of this that easily."

"I'm serious," Dean said, glancing back out the window again. "I don't think it could've been a bird."

"There ya go," Xander jumped in. "B for bird. Okay, Sam, now it's your turn."

"Dean, are you all right?" Sam asked, eying his brother.

"I saw something fly past the car," Dean told them.

"But we've gotta be going something like sixty miles an hour," Sam protested.

"What did it look like?" Xander's voice was exasperated as though he still believed Dean was just trying to get out of playing.

"Well, it looked…I don't know," Dean hedged a bit, "kind of…plaid."

Sam stared at him with a raised eyebrow, and Xander gave him an annoyed glare. "Look, if you don't like the alphabet game, just say so. We can play…twenty questions or something."

"Dean, maybe I should drive for a while." Sam was looking at him with concern now.

Dean just groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Forget it," he said, turning the stereo volume up a little more. Barely on the road for an hour and already Xander was causing him to hallucinate. This was going to be a long trip.

"Okay," Xander said, clapping his hands together. "I'm thinking of something and you guys get twenty questions to figure out what it is. And whoever guesses first, wins."

One hour down, a dozen or so more to go. Dean didn't have high hopes for his sanity.

* * *

The sky was just starting to darken when Dean pulled the car off of Interstate 40, not far from the Tennessee / North Carolina border, and into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

"Well this place is classy," Xander stated sarcastically from the backseat.

"If you think you can do so much better, maybe you shouldn't have come," Dean said heatedly. Before Xander could respond, Dean turned to Sam and said, "I'm going to see about a room." He got out of the car, leaving Xander and Sam alone.

Xander and Dean had been getting along fairly well this morning, but ten hours on the road had put a bit of a crinkle in their growing relationship. Apparently, Xander wasn't accustomed to long road trips and was finding new and inventive ways of testing Dean's patience.

Games hadn't gone over well with Dean, and Dean's music had quickly started to grate on Xander's nerves. Xander had asked if they could stop numerous times: a few times at the state lines for a picture, a couple of times for a bathroom break, and once just in a desperate plea to stretch their legs. However, Dean had only pulled over twice, and only then because the Impala's gas tank was nearly on empty. And for every time Xander asked a question, Dean would turn the stereo up just a bit more.

Xander had even asked if he could drive for a bit, only to be told by Dean, in no uncertain terms, that Dean was the only one who could drive the car, with the exception of Sam, who Dean had said went through a long and difficult application process before finally getting his chance behind the wheel.

Sam had mediated as best he could, but the last couple of hours had given him a severe headache. Sam wondered if this was how Dean felt when he got stuck in the middle of an argument between Sam and their father, and suddenly he felt a surge of sympathy for his brother.

"Man, how do you put up with him?" Xander asked from the backseat.

Sam's lips quirked up in a smile, and he shook his head slightly. "He takes some getting used to, but eventually he grows on you." It hadn't been a bed of roses for Sam and Dean either when they'd first begun traveling together again.

"Yeah, like a fungus I'll bet," Xander muttered.

Dean came out of the motel office jingling a set of keys in Sam and Xander's direction. Sam and Xander got out of the car as Dean popped the trunk.

"Here," Dean tossed Xander his bag and held out the room keys. "Since you've been whining about a bathroom break for the last hour, I'll be nice and let you go first." His tone was less than sincere.

Xander jerked the keys out of his hand with a glare and returned sarcastically, "Thanks." He stalked off toward their rooms.

The situation wasn't really humorous, but Sam couldn't hold back his grin.

When Dean noticed, he took some of his ire out on Sam, "What the hell are you smiling about?"

Sam's grin merely widened. "Nothing."

Dean shook his head. "All right, so I was thinking I'd hit a bar somewhere, see if I can score us some extra cash at the tables."

Sam grimaced. "Why didn't you mention we were low on cash?"

"I'm mentioning it now," Dean countered. "I figured you and Xander could stay here, maybe get some food or something."

Sam considered it for a moment, "Actually, Xander should go with you." At the look Dean gave him, he explained, "That way I can do some research about Waiverton while y'all are gone. See if anything turns up on the 'net."

"Come on, man," Dean moaned, making a disgruntled face. "The last ten hours have been hell. If we don't get a break, one of us won't be coming back. And considering I'm the one packing, I'll wager that the odds are in my favor."

Sam gave Dean an unrelenting stare, and Dean's face changed to an angry almost-pout. "Man, you owe me."

"Trapped in a car for hours on end probably isn't the best way to get to know someone," Sam commented as they grabbed their stuff and headed for their motel room.

When they were inside, Dean dropped his bag on the floor next to a raggedy couch that was tucked in a corner against one of the walls and turned to Xander who had stretched out on one of the beds. "Hey, what do you say you and I hit that bar I saw as we were coming in?"

Xander raised a skeptical eyebrow, no doubt curious about the invitation considering they'd been almost at each other's throats by the end of the trip. "What about Sam?" he asked.

"Sammy-boy is gonna tinker with his e-mail, and that'll get boring fast." Dean jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Come on, let's go."

It was more of an order than a request, but either Xander didn't notice or didn't mind because he simply shrugged and moved toward the door.

"We'll see you later, Sam," Dean said. As he turned to leave he looked back over his shoulder and silently mouthed _you owe me_ with a look that promised he would collect. Sam just hoped Dean didn't shoot Xander before the night was over.

* * *

Xander waved a hand in front of his face trying to dispel some of the cigarette smoke threatening to choke him. "So you come to these places often?" he asked. They were sitting at a small table in the back near the pool tables while Dean nursed a beer.

"Uh huh," Dean replied absently. He was attentively watching the players at the table right next to them, and Xander guessed it was either a very captivating game or Dean was trying to gauge the playing ability of the other men.

The large, burly player who was currently winning made what Xander thought was a rather stunning shot to finish the game and crowed gloriously to his opponent. "Now _that's_ skill."

Dean scoffed loudly, causing the large man to turn toward their table.

"You got something to say, boy?" the large man asked threateningly, and Xander gulped worriedly.

Dean grinned as if he didn't notice how tall and imposing the man was. He was a beefy guy with a leather biker's vest and a grizzly, graying beard, and could very easily have been a lifelong member of Hell's Angels. Dean just shrugged, "Only that any moron tall enough to see over the table could make that shot."

The man crossed his arms over his chest and looked Dean up and down, his expression utterly unimpressed. "All right, wise ass. Then why don't you put your money where your mouth is."

Dean grinned cheerfully and stood up, "All right."

The burly man took the opening break shot, and the first game went by rather quickly. For all his bluster, Dean had been soundly thumped. He didn't play badly, per say, but he hadn't even gotten close to winning, and Xander had to admit he was a little disappointed.

Dean glared at the man as he gave Dean a smug smirk. "It was a nice try, boy," he said condescendingly.

"Double or nothing," Dean offered in an angry tone.

The man laughed and spread his arms wide, "Hey, it's your money. Rack 'em."

Dean propped his cue against the table and began racking the balls. When the burly man looked away, Dean glanced over at Xander with a mischievous grin and winked. It was completely incongruous to the situation, and Xander got the distinct impression he was missing something. Almost immediately, as if putting on a mask, Dean reclaimed his serious, upset expression.

In this second game, they seemed evenly matched. The eight ball was the only one left, and it was Dean's shot, but the arrangement was dismal. "You're never going to make that," Burley-Guy scoffed with a grin, and Xander had to agree.

Dean sidled up to the table nonchalantly, lined up his shot, and banked twice before sinking the eight ball with apparent ease. The grin immediately fell from the man's face, and both he and Xander stared at Dean in surprise.

"Huh," Dean said, though his voice lacked any surprise. "Must be beginner's luck."

The man's face turned red, "Double or nothing says you can't win again."

Dean shrugged and spread his arms wide, mimicking the man's earlier actions, "Hey, it's your money, man." He gave a careless grin, "Rack 'em."

Dean ambled over to Xander and took a swig of his beer. "Like taking candy from a baby," he shared conspiratorially with a wry grin.

Xander gave a smile of his own, "That was a sweet shot."

"Wasn't it though," Dean remarked without any modesty.

"Hey, maybe you and I could play a game after this one, and you could show me a few tricks. I mean…not that I don't know how to play, but I never could have made that shot."

Dean frowned, "Maybe some other night, I'm kind of in the middle of something here. This guy-"

"Hey Cupcake!" Burley-Guy yelled. "We gonna play, or are you gonna spend all night chattin' with the Pipsqueak?"

"Oh he did not just call me Cupcake," Dean muttered under his breath. He turned around, gave the guy a glare, and yelled back, "Don't get your panties in a bunch." He turned back to Xander and gave the table a thump as he said, "Just hang tight, Xander. This shouldn't take long."

They started playing again, and one game turned into two and then three. With each game, Dean's skill became more apparent as he progressively beat the burley man more severely.

Burley-Guy spent more and more time standing around as Dean made shot after shot, and the more Dean played the less time he had in between to chat with Xander. Xander started getting bored watching Dean just stomp the other guy, and when he remembered that he hadn't called Willow in quite some time, he thought now might be an opportune time to find a pay phone.

Dean was preoccupied lining up his next shot, and Xander didn't want to bother him, so he slipped out from behind the table and made his way to the front entrance without being noticed.

He spotted a pay phone across the street on the corner not far from a twenty-four hour Waffle House. Xander reached the phone and picked up the receiver as he dug his calling card from his back pocket. He punched in all the necessary numbers, and by the second ring Willow's voice answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," Xander said.

"Xander!" Willow shouted over the line, and he almost had to pull the phone away from his ear. "I hadn't heard from you in so long I was starting to get worried. Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," Xander replied, smiling even though she couldn't see it. After everything that had been going on, it was a relief to hear her voice. "I'm in Tennessee for the moment."

"Tennessee?" Willow's tone was confused. "What happened to Kansas? I thought you were going to see what you could find?"

"No, I did go to Kansas," he corrected.

"And you didn't find anything," Willow came to the wrong conclusion, disappointment coloring her voice.

"Actually, I did," he began and then quickly followed with more details. "I didn't find my father, but I met this woman…well, a couple of women actually, and Missouri called Sam and Dean, my half-brothers, and they came, and I met them."

"What about your father?" Willow asked.

"It seems like no one really knows where he is, I guess. But there's a chance he might meet us where we're going."

"In Tennessee?"

"Um, no. We're heading to Waiverton, North Carolina. Their dad sent a text message that they'd find some work there, and they sort of invited me to ride with them." After some pleading from himself and arm-twisting from Missouri, he silently added.

"And so you decided to go with them so you could meet your father?" Willow asked, trying to sum up the situation.

"Well, they don't actually know if he'll be there. Apparently he's sent them messages about jobs before but didn't show up."

"But he knows you'll be there, right?"

Xander paused before answering, "Well, um…no, not exactly. I've gathered that it's kind of difficult to get a hold of him."

There was a long pause before Willow spoke again. "What are your brothers like? I mean…you're on this trip with them, and you only just met them. Are you sure that's a…safe idea?" she asked as delicately as possible.

"Yeah, of course," Xander answered immediately but then seriously considered his answer. What did he really know about them? "Well, I mean, they seem nice enough."

"Well, just be careful. Okay?" Willow half-ordered, half-asked. "And make sure you keep calling me to check in."

"Of course, I will. What would I do without my daily dose of the Willster?" Xander grinned.

"So you and your brothers are getting along okay?"

Xander nodded, then realized she wouldn't see it and said, "Yeah…for the most part."

"Most part?" Willow queried.

Xander told her about meeting his brothers, the rocky start he'd had with Dean, Dean's insistence that Xander couldn't travel with them and then his last-minute change-of-mind, and the long, tedious car ride that had taken up the biggest portion of the day.

"…it's like I never know where I stand with him," Xander said of Dean. "One minute we're fine, the next I'm not sure if he even likes me."

"Well, you have to remember that this was probably a pretty big shock, and they've barely had a day to adjust," Willow consoled. "Plus, hours on end in a confined space with no chance for a reprieve? That's either got to be the best or the worst way to get to know someone in a quick amount of time."

Xander scoffed. "The only thing I got to know on that ten-hour drive was the lyrics to every Metallica song known to man."

Xander heard Willow trying to smother a laugh and couldn't fight a smile of his own. Talking with Willow always had a way of making even the worst situations seem better. "Well, see, you learned what type of music he likes. That's one thing," Willow pointed out.

"Yeah…learned more about it than I ever wanted to know," Xander said, humor taking the bite out of his words.

"What about Sam?" Willow asked.

"He's a nice guy." Xander shrugged. "A bit on the serious side though. And speaking of the getting-to-know-you game," Xander went off on an entirely different track, "I never realized how difficult it was to talk about things in Sunnydale without talking about _things_ in Sunnydale."

"Having to poke all your stories full of holes?" Willow guessed.

"It's starting to feel like the story of my life is a slice of Swiss cheese. My story of the great Battle of Graduation got boiled down to 'robes and goofy hats'. No wonder my last date was with an ex-vengeance demon. Any other girl and our conversations would only consist of hello and goodbye," Xander complained.

"It does kind of put a damper on the sharing," Willow agreed.

Xander sighed, running out of steam on his rant, and looked at his watch. "Well, I should probably go…want to save some minutes for the next time we chat."

"Okay, just…be careful."

"I will," Xander assured.

"And I miss you," she added in a small voice.

Xander gave a sad smile. "I miss you too, Will. But I'll call again soon."

"You better, mister."

They said their goodbyes and Xander hung up the phone. Xander looked back toward the bar, noticing that Dean hadn't come out yet, and then looked over to the Waffle House. They'd eaten Missouri's sandwiches several hours ago and Xander was starting to feel a bit hungry. Well, truth be told, Xander was always hungry.

Figuring he probably had a little more time to kill before Dean was ready to leave, Xander made his way into the small restaurant. Eileen, a waitress in her mid-fifties with a thick southern accent, took Xander's order and came back a short while later with a plate of waffles and some syrup.

After twenty-five minutes, three waffles, two glasses of milk, and Eileen's life-story, Xander finally found himself making his way back toward the bar. Just as Xander reached the parking lot, Dean came barreling out door in such a frantic manner that Xander expected Burley-Guy to come running out behind him.

When Dean spotted Xander his expression suddenly changed, and he began walking toward Xander at a brisk pace. Xander moved to meet him but was stopped short by the angry words that came spilling out of Dean's mouth, "Where the hell have you been?"

Xander blinked in surprise at the anger he suddenly found leveled at him and pointed a thumb in the direction he'd just come from. "I was just getting something-"

Dean didn't give him a chance to finish. "I was looking everywhere for you. What the hell were you thinking just wandering off like that?"

"I just went to make a phone call and get some waffles. You were so busy, I didn't think you'd notice anyway." Xander objected.

"You don't go off on your own without telling someone first," Dean explained heatedly as if Xander had broken some unspoken rule that he should have known. "What if something had happened to you?"

"Like what?" Xander exclaimed, becoming worked up himself. He'd grown up on a hellmouth, taking on demons and vampires (or a least helping a slayer take them on), and he certainly didn't need someone to hold his hand just to cross the street. "You know, I've made it fine so far on my own. If I need a babysitter, I'll let you know."

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again without saying anything and made a face as though he was trying to keep his anger in check. "Just get in the car," he finally managed without too much venom.

"Fine," Xander spit back. Neither one said anything on the way back to the motel.

* * *

Sam startled a little when the motel-room door was thrown open and Xander marched in with a stormy look on his face. Xander didn't say anything to him, but Sam could tell he was upset. His jerky movements were fueled by what Sam guessed to be anger. "Everything all right?" Sam asked.

"Why don't you ask Captain Nanny?" Xander quipped before grabbing a few things from his bag, marching into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Well, at least Dean didn't shoot him," Sam muttered quietly to himself, still trying to figure out the Captain Nanny remark. Though knowing Dean as he did, Sam thought he had a pretty good idea of what might have brought that comment on.

Sam wandered out the entryway and pulled the door closed behind him. He found Dean standing out on the concrete walkway that ran in front of the motel. Dean was leaning against one of the support beams that held up the awning, and Sam moved to lean against the next support beam in line. "Want to tell me what happened while y'all were gone?"

Dean ignored the question completely and instead started in on an entirely different subject. "So what did you find out about Waiverton?"

Sam repressed a sigh, knowing it would never be that easy to get Dean to come clean about whatever was going on. "Not a lot," Sam admitted. "It's a small town with barely a population of 12,000, located not far from the Blue Ridge Mountains. On the whole, I couldn't find much else about it. With the exception of a rather interesting news article from a few days ago. Turns out a man was mauled to death by what they suspect was a black bear or a rabid bobcat."

"Bobcat, huh?" Dean asked skeptically. "So do you think this has something to do with why we're going there?"

"Could be," Sam conceded. "Though we can't rule out the possibility of a bear or bobcat 'til we get there."

"But if it isn't?" Dean asked, fishing for suggestions.

"Well, I doubt it's a Wendigo. Leaving a corpse to be found doesn't exactly fit its profile."

"Well, that's a small relief." Dean suppressed a shudder as he remembered their previous encounter with a Wendigo. He could gladly go the rest of his life without running into another one of those.

"There's also a chance it could be a black dog," Sam suggested.

Dean considered that, then threw out a suggestion of his own. "What about a werewolf?"

Sam nodded, already having considered the possibility, and said with a serious expression, "The article said the man was killed just before dawn, and it was a full moon that night. And if that's the case, we may be there for a while. There won't be another full moon for a month."

Dean groaned at the thought of waiting out a whole month just to track down a damn werewolf.

"Or this could be just be an animal attack, and we're supposed to hunt something else entirely," Sam countered.

"Maybe," Dean complied. "Either way, we're not going to figure it out tonight. Might well get some sleep and get an early start in the morning."

"Yeah." Sam shifted against the pole he was leaning on and came circling back to the topic he'd originally started with, "So are you going tell me what happened earlier with Xander?"

Dean rolled his eyes but gave in to Sam's prodding, "The kid ran off without even giving me a heads up. One minute he's there, and then the next I turn around, and he's just gone."

"And you freaked out," Sam guessed.

Dean looked at Sam as if he'd just said something completely off-the-wall. "I didn't _freak out_."

"But you were worried," Sam countered, smiling. It hadn't taken long for Dean's protective instincts to kick in in regard to Xander.

"I wasn't- Would you quit putting words in my mouth," Dean argued.

"So I guess you handled the situation calmly and rationally. Which I suppose is why Xander came storming in earlier." Sam postulated mock-seriously.

Dean just stared at him. "See, this is why I avoid these types of conversation. You make a big deal out of nothing."

Sam just grinned and feigned agreement, "Uh huh."

Sam turned and headed back into the room, and Dean followed behind. Xander was already stretched out on the far bed, unsurprisingly sound asleep, and Sam flopped down on the other bed. "Looks like you get the couch," he told Dean.

Dean looked from Sam to the couch that more closely resembled a torture device than anything comfortable, and then turned an annoyed look on Sam. "You know, sometimes I think I might be better off on my own," Dean said.

Sam just smiled knowing there wasn't any real feeling behind the words and said, "See you in the morning."


	10. Chapter 10

Xander stared blearily at the array of items before him and tried desperately to make sense of what he saw. Rows of colorfully wrapped packages were laid before him, and while normally he would have found such a variety of items appetizing, at the current hour he could barely comprehend what he was looking at. He wished he could be warm and in bed instead of standing here dead on his feet.

"Dude, what is taking so long? I've already filled the car with gas," someone voiced from Xander's left.

Xander turned and found the cause for all his current troubles in his direct line of sight. Dean was looking at him impatiently, and Xander felt supreme irritation welling up in him as he turned what he hoped was a venomous glare on Dean (though in his current state it came off as more of a half-lidded, vacant stare). "It's five in the morning," Xander stated unnecessarily.

"Yeah, and I would have liked to have been on the road by now, so would you pick something so we can go?"

Xander thought if he gave it another minute, Dean might actually start tapping his foot. Xander returned to his perusal of junk food. He'd gotten a nasty wake-up call this morning when Dean, fed up with trying to shake him awake, had doused him with cold water. When Xander had jumped out of bed, Dean had told him he had five minutes to get his stuff packed and get in the car before they left him behind. They'd stopped for some gas and for what amounted to breakfast as far as Dean was concerned (a coke and a candy bar), but Xander didn't have enough of his higher brain functions working at the moment to make a decision of such magnitude.

"It's five a.m.," Xander repeated. "It's just indecent to be awake this early. It's all I can do to stay on my feet, I can barely open my eyes enough to see, and nothing here looks good, which is something I never thought I'd hear myself say about junk food." Xander crossed his arms over his chest and donned an expression that looked better suited to a pouting five-year-old. "I think my stomach is still asleep."

Dean brought a hand up to cover his face and let out a deep sigh. Xander wondered if he were counting to ten in an effort to stay calm. "Come on, Xan, work with me here. Just pick something…you don't have to eat it now, save it for later. You can catch some sleep in the car. I'll even keep the music down low." Dean gave him his most charming grin, one that was usually reserved for the ladies.

Xander just frowned at him. "You dumped water on me this morning. _Cold_ water. Forgive me if I'm not feeling very cooperative at the moment." Xander turned back to the shelves of junk food and added mournfully, "And they don't have any moon pies."

"What about some Twinkies?" Dean threw out pleadingly. "I'll even pay for them myself."

Xander picked up a package of Twinkies and stared at it for a moment as though it were an extremely tricky Rubik's Cube, "I don't know." Xander picked up a Milky Way in his other hand, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two. "What if I end up wanting chocolate instead. I'm just not equipped to deal with these sorts of decisions at this hour."

Dean sighed half in exasperation, half in relief, "Easy." He grabbed both items out of Xander's hands. "We'll just get both."

Dean turned to go, but Xander stopped him, "I need something to drink."

Dean turned back to him with a pained look, "Come on, man." He was starting to look really desperate, and Xander smiled inwardly thinking it almost made up for getting drenched that morning. Almost.

Xander moseyed over to the coolers against the wall, and Dean followed forlornly. A couple minutes passed with Xander simply staring at the rows of beverages and Dean began to shift impatiently.

When Dean finally couldn't take it anymore, he blurted out, "Would you just pick something?"

Xander shot him an annoyed glance before opening the cooler door and pulling out a one-liter bottle of Coca-Cola.

Dean's impatience waned a bit as he warily eyed the bottled in Xander's hand. "Dude, if you drink all that you're gonna need to take a leak before we even make it ten miles."

Xander held the drink out between them and gave Dean an uncompromising stare. Somewhere along the way, Xander's pity-party had become more of a 'give Dean a hard time' party. Because, honestly, what kind of guy throws water on a person before the sun even comes up. "Do you want to spend all day here?"

Dean's expression became rocky, and for a moment Xander thought Dean might call him on it, but eventually Dean just grabbed the soda out of his hand and added it to Xander's growing pile of goodies. "Can we go now?"

Xander pretended to think about it, drawing the moment out just long enough that it looked like steam might come of Dean's ears, then shrugged casually and said, "Okay."

Dean shook his head and took off for the check-out counter. Xander ambled behind, not even bothering to hide his grin. Dean paid for the items and they went out to the car where Sam was waiting in the passenger seat.

"What took you guys so long?" Sam asked as Xander climbed into the backseat and Dean sat down behind the steering wheel.

"Ask grandma back there," Dean jerked a thumb in Xander's direction.

"Hey, I didn't ask to be woken up with a shower this morning," Xander defended.

"Would you let that go?" Dean started the ignition, and they pulled out onto the highway. "I mean, is there anything else that could wake you up?"

"I don't know." Xander considered it seriously for a moment. "You could have tried yelling or shaking me," he accused.

"We did," Dean and Sam answered in unison, in the same matter-of-fact tone.

"Huh," Xander said in surprise. "Well did it have to be _cold_ water?"

"Next time, ice will be involved," Dean informed him. "If Sammy can wake up early, so can you."

Xander grimaced at the thought of recurrent, watery wake-up calls, and opened his coke to take a giant swig in the hopes that the caffeine would keep him awake. At the very least he wanted to stave off another water-attack _today_.

Sam glanced at him over the seat and gave him a sympathetic smile, "Don't worry, you'll eventually get in the habit of waking up early."

"Are you a victim of the Dean School of Waterworks too?" Xander asked.

"Actually, I woke up one morning with a snake in my bed. I learned not to sleep in with Dean around after that," Sam explained.

Dean laughed to himself at the memory, "I'll never forget the way you came flying out of that bed. You nearly ran out the motel door in your underwear."

"Yeah. That was hilarious," Sam returned humorlessly. "Dean thinks he's the king of practical jokes," Sam told Xander.

"What are you talking about? I _am_ the king of practical jokes. And you two better watch out, 'cause I strike without warning," Dean grinned cockily, missing the shared look of unstated alliance that passed between them.

"Better be careful Dean…you're out-numbered now," Sam warned him.

Dean looked at Sam with a raised eye-brow, knowing a challenge when he heard one. "Are you threatening me?"

Sam held up his hands, "I'm just saying."

As for Xander, he just knew he really didn't want to wake up to find a snake in his bed. He'd had enough of that at graduation.

"So do you guys think we'll end up seeing John when we get there?" Xander asked suddenly.

"Not likely," Sam muttered darkly. And just like that the atmosphere went from jovial to thick with tension.

"Okay, time for some music," Dean said with faked cheer.

The car was immediately filled with the wails of an electric guitar, and Xander slumped despondently in his seat. He'd be willing to bet that Dean's music could wake him from even the deepest of slumber, which was unfortunate because he'd take unconsciousness over Dean's music any day.

* * *

Waiverton, North Carolina was damn-near picturesque. The town was nestled at the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and a thick forest separated town from mountain range. The air was cool and smelled fresh and clean. Tall, magnificent trees lined the spotlessly-clean sidewalks, and though the sky was overcast, the area was still breath-taking to look at.

With a population of 12,000, the town was small but not overly miniscule. It was, however, somewhat out of the way. There was no direct road to town from the highway, instead one had to take several farm roads to reach the isolated burg.

Main street ran north through the center of town and each side was lined with storefronts: a couple of antique shops, a grocery, a drug store, a small one-screen theater, Billie's Café and Creamery, and Ned's Diner. Despite its smallness, the town was alive with activity as people came and went through shop doors or sat at patio tables in front of the café, chatting and sipping coffee.

All in all, it seemed like an ideal place to live. But Dean knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving. As they drove through town, Dean eyed his surroundings, his hunter's eyes scouring the details for anything that might seem remotely out of the ordinary.

Dean pulled the Impala up to the sidewalk in front of Ned's Diner, got out of the car, and stretched his muscles out in a catlike fashion before shutting the driver's side door. Sam got out of the car as well, and Dean leaned down to peer into back window.

Xander's head was tilted back against the seat with eyes closed and mouth gaping, and Dean rolled his eyes. "No wonder that last hour was so peaceful."

Dean didn't know how Xander could have fallen asleep after drinking that entire liter of Coke, but he did know he didn't want to have to go through that morning's fiasco again just to get Xander out of the car. He figured he'd give it one good effort to wake him, and if that didn't fly, he'd just leave him in the car.

"Dean," Sam said warningly, apparently noticing the mischievous glint in Dean's eyes.

"What?" Dean shrugged innocently. "I'm just going to wake him up."

Sam shook his head but didn't intervene. Dean leaned into the car and got as close to Xander's ear as he could, then in as loud a yell as he could manage, he growled out, "Xander, there's a snake!"

This time, Dean's efforts paid off spectacularly. Xander jerked awake, flying out of his seat only to bounce off the back of the front seat and tumble out the car door onto the ground as he yelled out wildly, "What? No! I didn't fall asleep!"

An elderly couple that was passing by at the time stopped and looked over at the boys with baffled expressions. Sam could only return an embarrassed smile.

"Well, look at that," Dean grinned down arrogantly at Xander. "You _can_ wake up in a timely manner."

Xander began to calm down from his frantic display and started taking in his surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Welcome to Waiverton, North Carolina," Dean replied and stuck a hand out to help Xander up.

Xander stared at his hand for a moment before grudgingly taking it and allowing himself to be pulled off the ground. As he dusted himself off, he gave Sam a reproachful look. "Thanks for looking out for me," Xander commented sarcastically, thinking the two had come to an unspoken alliance against Dean's crazy antics.

"Honestly, I didn't think it would work," Sam said apologetically.

"Yeah, I'm a little surprised myself," Dean agreed.

"Oh come on, guys," Xander practically whined, glancing back and forth between the two, "I'm not _that_ bad."

Dean glanced at Sam and the two shared a look before saying at the same time, "Yeah, you are."

Outnumbered, Xander's expression changed to annoyed defeat. "So now what?"

"Lunch," Dean answered, gesturing to the diner they were parked in front of.

Xander looked amendable to the idea, "Well, I suppose if you're going to feed me every time you rudely wake me up, I guess I can get used to it."

Dean frowned as they turned and moved toward the diner, "Hey, I paid for breakfast. I didn't say anything about paying for lunch."

As they entered the diner, a bell rang over head. "Just sit anywhere," a voice yelled from the back kitchen which could only be partially seen through an open, rectangular window over a counter where plates of food were placed before being taken to their proper table. Booths lined the walls while the inner floor area was littered with small, square tables. Dean opted for one of the tables rather than squeezing into a booth, and Sam and Xander took seats as well.

Dean scanned the room, taking in the small diner's various occupants. Most were middle-aged or older, sitting together in pairs or groups; however, in a booth in the far back corner there was a lone, elderly gentleman staring down into the depths of his coffee cup. Sam noticed the direction of Dean's gaze and glanced back over his shoulder at the lonely, old man in the corner.

Before Dean could get a reaction from Sam, a young waitress with long, sandy-brown hair approached their table with menus in tow. "Welcome to Ned's Diner," she said. Dean, never one to miss an opportunity to appreciate a pretty girl, gave her a slow once over. She was maybe a little older than Xander, with average height, blue eyes, and the easy, graceful kind of smile that could change a man's day from bad to good with one shy grin.

Dean's charm immediately kicked into high gear. "Hello there…" his eyes sought out the nametag pinned to her right shoulder, "Avery."

Avery gave him a polite smile – less enthusiastic than Dean would have liked, but he didn't mind a challenge – and began handing out menus to them. She gave Xander his menu last and her gaze lingered longer on him that it had on Sam or Dean. "I don't think I've seen you guys before. Are you new in town?"

"As a matter of fact, we just arrived," Dean told her, bringing her attention back to him. "I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam," he gestured to his right, "and that's Xander." He left off the title of 'brother' for Xander, not quite ready to apply that label out loud.

She nodded absently and immediately turned her attention back to Xander, gracing him with a shy smile, "Will you be staying long?"

Dean's grin tightened a bit, a little put out that Xander seemed to be pulling all her attention, "For a few days at least." This time she couldn't even be bothered to drag her eyes away from Xander. Xander on the other hand seemed to be about as aware of her rapt attention as Mister Magoo without glasses.

Sam coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like a laugh to Dean's ears, and Dean turned to him with narrowed eyes. Sam nonchalantly opened his menu for perusal while bringing a thoughtful hand to his chin in what Dean suspected was a less-than-clever attempt to hide an amused smile.

"So what brought you guys to our bustling little neighborhood?" Avery asked Xander in a sincerely interested voice.

"Actually, Dean and Sam are here to do repair work. I just graduated, and I've been on a road trip, so I thought I would tag along." Xander explained.

"A road trip," Avery's eyes widened in amazement. "That must be so cool! I've always wanted to travel."

"Yep, just call me king of the road," Xander gave her a goofy grin.

Dean cringed at the lame line and then grew even more perturbed as it garnered Xander another one of those day-making smiles from Avery. Honestly, he'd seen junior high kids with more debonair flare than Xander. Avery, however, didn't seem to realize just how far out of Xander's league she was. No accounting for taste Dean supposed.

"Ya know, Sam and I have been on the road for quite a while ourselves," Dean put in.

Avery glanced at Dean with mild interest, her smile tamed down again to mere politeness, "That's nice."

Sam gave a strangled, choking noise that was unmistakably recognizable this time as a suppressed laugh, earning himself an icy glare from Dean. Sam cleared his throat, schooling his features into a much more serious expression, and his voice was quiet and even when it came out, "Hey, Avery, what's the story with the guy in the corner?" Sam cocked his head in the direction of the man Dean had noticed earlier.

Avery's warm smile completely faltered, her expression overcome with sorrow as she turned woeful eyes to the far-corner booth. "That's Jim Hastings," she told them, her voice pitched low like Sam's had been. "For as long I've been working here, he and his best friend, Tom, would come in every day. One day they'd be arguing over who had caught the biggest fish that morning, the next they'd have everyone in the diner laughing over some off-the-wall joke," her lips curved in a wistful smile. "People around town say they'd been friends since they were boys, lived here their whole lives, fishing in the creek every day just like when they were kids. But a few days ago…" Avery trailed off, swallowing hard as the smile fell from her face again.

"But what?" Sam pressed gently.

Avery's eyes dropped to the wooden table and she chewed her bottom lip a moment, making her youth more apparent, before continuing in a strained voice, "There was an animal attack in the woods a few days ago. Tom was killed." She looked back up, her eyes glassy and filled with sadness. This was the part of the job Dean hated the most…the inability to ease someone's grief. It was something he'd grappled with in regard to Sam, completely helpless when it came to sparing his brother the anguish of losing Jess.

"It just hurts to see him like this," Avery continued. "It's been such a hard year for him. First his wife, and now his best friend."

Dean leaned forward in curiosity, wondering if there might be some connection between the two deaths, "What happened to his wife?" Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam tense a bit and knew he was probably wondering the same thing as himself.

"She was sick for several years," Avery said. "Cancer I think."

Dean slowly leaned back in his seat. It was doubtful there was any connection.

"Jim was pretty messed up when she died, but Tom stuck by him, helped him to pull through. Now though… They say Jim was the one to find his body, I can't even imagine-" she broke off, a painful grimace etching her features.

"Man, that sucks," Xander succinctly summed up in a quiet, stricken voice.

"It's scared the whole town real bad. I suppose everyone's afraid it will happen again. Some game and wildlife people came by though, checked things out. They think it was probably a rabid bobcat…probably already dead by now. They're pretty sure it won't happened again," Avery stated nervously, sounding as though she were trying to convince herself as much as them.

Dean shared a knowing look with Sam. "Still, it couldn't hurt to be cautious," he advised her. "Better safe than sorry, right?" Avery gave him a small smile and nodded.

A loud voice called out from the back kitchen, causing Avery to wince, "If you don't quit your yappin' and start taking some orders, you're going to be looking for another job!"

"I'm on it," Avery called back with little remorse.

"We should probably let you take our orders. We don't want to get you into trouble," Sam said contritely.

"Oh don't worry," Avery consoled with a wry look. "Ned's bark is worse than his bite. So what'll it be?"

Xander perused his menu for a moment then looked up at Avery. "What do you recommend?"

Avery practically glowed at having Xander's attention, and Dean slumped broodingly in his seat. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched, and Dean had to suppress the urge to kick him under the table. Xander was, of course, oblivious as ever.

Avery leaned in close, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear, and pointed out something on Xander's menu, "I like the chicken tenders best. They're really good."

"I'll have that then," Xander grinned at her.

Dean closed his menu and dropped it on the table with a sulky plop, "I'll have a hamburger and a coke."

"I'll have the same," Sam added.

"I'll have it right out," Avery collected their menus and gave them a bright smile before taking their order back to the kitchen window.

Dean tilted his head and watched her walk away before sliding his gaze over to Xander and giving the young man a considering look. "You know she's got the hots for you, right?"

Xander gave a startled look and quickly glanced over his shoulder in the direction Avery had left in. He turned back to Dean, "Seriously? You really think so?"

Dean groaned, "You've got to be kidding. No one can be _that_ dense when it comes to women."

Xander frowned at the insult, and Sam tried to allay an argument, "Don't worry, Xander. Dean's just jealous because he pulled out all the stops to get Avery's attention and you managed it without even trying."

"Hey," Dean glared at him, taking umbrage at the slam against his ability to charm a girl. "I could have charmed her, I was just holding back on Xander's account…since he has about as much of a clue as an ostrich with its head in the sand."

Sam snorted, "Right. You were just being charitable."

Sam was getting far too much amusement at his expense, Dean thought. He turned his attention back to Xander, leaning over the table and saying in a scheming manner, "When she comes back with our food, what you need to do is ask her out."

Xander blinked at him, "You mean like on a date?"

Dean nearly dropped his head on the table in frustration, "No, to the moon. _Of course_ on a date."

"But what if she says no," Xander argued.

"Trust me, man, she's not gonna say no," Dean spotted Avery heading back in their direction, her arms laden with plates. "Here she comes," he hissed, and quickly leaned back in his seat donning a laid-back expression.

"Here you go," Avery deposited their plates in front of them. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Um, hey, Avery?" Xander voiced. She turned to him with bright smile. "I, um…" Xander eyes widened and he suddenly seemed to freeze up. "Thanks," he blurted out suddenly.

Avery laughed warmly, "You're welcome."

There was an awkward pause where the two just stared at each other, and finally Avery said, "Well, I should let you guys eat before your food gets cold."

"Right, 'cause the tenders are probably better when they're warm. Nobody likes a cold chicken," Xander laughed nervously.

Avery nodded and gave him a smile before moving off to another table.

"What the hell was _that_?" Dean gaped at him incredulously.

"I panicked, all right?" Xander shot back. "It all happened so quickly, I couldn't think of anything to say."

"Surely you could have come up with something better than 'cold chicken'," Dean admonished.

"When it comes to talking to women I have rather limited experience," Xander explained.

"No really," Dean deadpanned. "I never would have guessed."

"And half the girls I end up dating turn out to be de- disasters. _Complete_ disasters." Xander stated emphatically.

"You need lessons in suave 101," Dean told him.

"Don't listen to Dean, Xander," Sam cut in, shooting a reproving look at Dean. "You just need to relax. It'll be a lot easier to talk to her if you're not stressing over it."

"Yeah, that's easier said than done," Xander complained, viciously stabbing a French fry with his fork and glaring at Dean as if all this were somehow his fault.

"Well, you'll get a second chance when she brings us our check," Dean tried to cheer him up.

"Yeah. Humiliation round two, that's something to look forward to. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll even have a sudden death overtime. Or maybe just a sudden death," Xander crammed a forkful of fries in his mouth and chewed despondently. "So what are we doing after this?" Xander asked around his half-chewed food. Apparently, dining etiquette went out the window without Missouri around to crack the whip.

"Probably try and find a place to stay and then look into this job we're supposed to work," Dean told him.

Xander frowned thoughtfully, and after swallowing his food he laid down his fork and asked, "If you guys are here to do repair work, why didn't you bring any tools?"

The question caught Dean off-guard, but luckily Sam stepped in with a reasonable response, "The types of jobs we do vary, so usually, whoever hires us provides us with whatever materials we need to do the job."

In the far back corner of the diner, Jim Hastings stood from his booth, laid down some money for his coffee, and made for the diner's exit. Sam and Dean both eyed him discreetly as he passed. It went unnoticed by Xander, who was finding his chicken tenders to be just as good as Avery said they'd be.

"So what kinds of jobs have you guys done? Maybe I could help out on this one," Xander suggested.

Sam and Dean shared a distressed look. This could become problematic, just as Dean had feared when he first invited Xander along. One of them would have to distract Xander while the other went tracking down information, or they were going to have to find some inconspicuous way to ditch him.

"Well, there's always leaky pipes," Dean said.

"And broken windows," Sam put in.

"Mostly some really tedious stuff, you'd probably just be bored," Dean mock-lamented. "And, hey, if you have a date with Avery, you're gonna be too busy to hang with us boys."

"Yeah, because that seems likely to happen," Xander said sarcastically.

Suddenly it became imperative to Dean that Xander get a date with this girl. If nothing else it would be a great way to get Xander out of their hair for a few hours while they got to the bottom of what it was they were supposed to hunt. "Hey, I've seen stranger things happen," Dean tried to boost his confidence. _A lot stranger than he can imagine_, Dean added silently to himself.

A short while later they finished eating, and Avery returned to their table with their check in hand. "How was everything?"

"Great," Dean said, digging out his wallet and trying to give Xander a look that urged him to say something to Avery. When Xander just stared dumbly at him, Dean added, "I think Xander really enjoyed those chicken tenders."

"Good!" Avery gave Xander a pleased look. "Are you sure I can't get you anything else? Maybe some pie?" her eyes pleaded with him. The girl couldn't be more obvious if she wrote it on a poster board, Dean thought.

When neither Dean nor Sam seemed interested in having pie, Xander shrugged and said, "I think I'll pass on the pie this time."

Dean held in an exasperated growl.

"Actually, we were wondering if you might be able to point us toward a place that could put us up for the night," Sam said.

"Martha Jennings runs a bed-and-breakfast not far from here. She always has plenty of room. Just follow main street down to the four-way stop, take a left and it's the second house on the right. You can't miss it," Avery dutifully told them.

Dean thought it was time for desperate measures, "Say, Avery, how much longer before you get off work?"

Avery glanced at him in surprise and then checked her watch. "Actually, just ten more minutes. Why do you ask?"

She looked apprehensive at his question and Dean had to quell his resentment at having his ego wounded by such a disinterested reaction. "Well, I was thinking, with us being new in town and all, maybe you could give Xander a tour of the town. Sam and I have a few things we need to check out…no sense boring Xander to death when he could spend his time on the arm of a pretty girl." Dean gave her his most charming smile, "What do ya say?"

Avery's eyes brightened, and Dean doubted it had anything to do with his smile. "Well, there's not really a lot to see," Avery explained, "but I'd love to. I mean…if Xander wants to," she turned questioning eyes to Xander.

"Yes!" Xander nearly jumped out of his seat. "I mean, yeah, that's sounds- I'd like that too."

Dean was too relieved to quibble over Xander's incoherent babbling, but he decided that sometime soon he'd have to take Xander aside and teach him the finer points of romancing the ladies. "Good, glad we've got that all sorted. So why don't we just leave Xander here with you while we go get ourselves a room and take care of a few other things, and he can just meet up with us later at that Martha's place."

They all nodded in agreement, and Dean laid out enough cash on the table to cover the check and still leave enough to make for a decent-sized tip for Avery. "You two kids have fun now," Dean teased slyly, causing Avery to blush.

"See you guys later," Xander said, his tone laced with an unspoken 'get lost' geared toward Dean. _Ungrateful brat_, Dean thought. _The things one does for family_…

Sam and Dean left the diner, the jingling bell marking their exit, and got in the car. Dean let out an exhausted sigh as soon the car door shut. He didn't think he'd ever put so much effort into securing a date, and it hadn't even been for himself.

Dean started up the car, pulled away from the curb, and immediately launched into a game plan. "Okay, so we'll get our rooming situation sorted out as quickly as possible, and then I think the best place to start would be with Jim Hastings, see what he knows, then from there we can hit the library and maybe see about-" Dean was distracted by the sound of Sam snickering. He glanced over at his brother to see Sam's shoulders shaking with repressed laughter, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Dude, what are you laughing about?"

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that the great Dean Winchester charm lost its influence on women," Sam laughed loudly.

"I've haven't lost anything," Dean protested passionately, which only caused Sam to laugh harder.

"She totally dismissed you, man," Sam wheezed out between hysterical laugher.

Dean gave him a thoroughly un-amused glare which just sent Sam into another bout of cackles so fierce that he doubled over as far as the seat belt would allow. "Yeah, go ahead, laugh it up," Dean muttered darkly. "It was just a one-time fluke." As Sam's laughter continued without any indication of letting up, Dean began to get seriously peeved. "Dude, it isn't that funny."

Sam continued to laugh for another good minute before finally tapering off, a sunny grin still pasted on his face. Dean glared reproachfully, "Do you think maybe we could focus a little now?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, still unsuccessful in wiping the grin off his features. He cleared his throat, trying to reign in his amusement, "So you think Jim may have seen what happened to Tom?"

"Maybe," Dean said, then added reluctantly, "or maybe he's the one who caused it. Remember, there's a possibility we're dealing with a werewolf here."

Sam frowned, "But Tom and Jim were friends."

"If he really is a werewolf, then he probably wouldn't have had any control over his actions. Hell…there's a chance that he doesn't even know what he is. Either way, he's probably the best lead we have so far."

"And if it isn't a werewolf at all?" Sam interjected.

"Then we follow up on the black dog theory," Dean said.

Sam considered that avenue. "We should probably check the library, see if there's any record of old church grounds, graveyards, ley lines, footpaths…you know, Avery mentioned they fished a lot. If there's a creek, maybe there's a black dog guarding some old bridge or something."

Dean nodded, "We also need to pin down exactly where this Tom guy died."

"You know, maybe we should split up," Sam suggested.

Dean considered the option, "We'd be able to cover more ground that way, and that's not bad idea since we may have a limited amount of before we have to meet back up with Xander."

Sam nodded his agreement, "This could get really complicated before this is all over."

"One step at time," Dean said. "And I call dibs on the book digging. Last old man I talked to tried to kick a hole in the back of my car. I'm not looking for a repeat performance."

Sam was probably better suited to coaxing information out of the grieving man anyway. "Guess we have plan then," Sam stated.

"Guess so," Dean returned.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam and Dean quickly sorted out their rooming situation and then split up to do their respective tasks. Not long after, Sam found Jim Hastings on a rickety wooden bench in an old, deserted park. Though it had probably once been an amusing playground for younger generations, the area had since been abandoned for arcades and other playgrounds with newer, more advanced toys. The old equipment was no longer what it had been. The swing set was without swings, the monkey bars rusted over, the merry-go-round gave a metallic shriek whenever the wind gusted enough to move it. The park had an empty, haunted feel to it. Which Sam guessed was probably fitting considering who its only occupant was.

Sam lingered back just out of the man's line of sight, taking a moment to order his thoughts and consider how to handle the situation. Talking to people in the aftermath of tragedy was always a tricky business. Some people adamantly refused to talk about it and would make their feelings well-known by lashing out at any who dared to ask. Others held the emotions in so long that when they were asked, the words would come spilling out as though some floodgate had been let loose. Confessing their pain to a stranger was a way to exorcise their personal demons, remember loved ones lost, or sometimes just begin the long journey on the path to recovery.

Each person was different and required a delicate approach, and as Sam began making his way toward the man he could only hope things wouldn't blow up in his face. Especially since other lives could be on the line.

As he got closer, Sam was able to get his first good look at Jim. He was a tall, sturdy man, still fit and healthy-looking despite the silver hair that could be seen under his wide-brimmed fisherman's hat. He wore an old pair of denim overalls that were well-worn in the knees and a faded-plaid, button-down shirt. Though he still looked physically robust for his age, there was something fragile about him, a weariness that was more than just the weight of years.

Sam slowly approached the man with his hands jammed in his jeans' pockets and an attempted casual air. When he reached the bench, he asked politely, "Mind if I sit with you?"

The cocked his head toward Sam, raised an eyebrow, and replied wryly in a warm baritone, "Son, if you think this bench can hold the weight of us both, then you're more than welcome to sit down."

At his response, Sam eyed the worn bench. The wood was water-stained, cracked, and rotted in some places…and there was a fairly good chance that it _wouldn't_ hold both their weights. But Sam wasn't one to give up easily, so he gingerly sat down next to Jim. The bench creaked ominously but didn't break.

"Well, would you look at that," Jim commented dryly.

"Guess it's my lucky day," Sam joked.

"Better mark the calendar, days like this don't come around often," Jim said stoically.

Thinking that things were off to a good start, Sam tried to keep the conversation going, "I'm new in town, and I-"

"You don't say?" Jim cut in sardonically.

"Um…" Sam stumbled, momentarily taken aback.

Jim waved off his awkwardness, "It's a small town. Besides, I saw you guys when you came into the diner."

"Oh…right," Sam said and then tried to figure out what to say next. "It's just, um…you're Jim Hastings right?"

Jim turned to him with raised eyebrows and a mock-impressed expression, "Not even here a day and already you know people." He turned his gaze back to the empty playground, "Must really be a small town."

Sam changed his mind on that good start, but he had to give the guy some credit for his dry sense of humor. The only problem was it made it difficult to get a grasp on the man's demeanor. He was a little cynical, but still approachable…but that could all change with his next question.

"I don't mean to pry or anything-"

"Son," Jim stopped him again before he could even get the question out, "when you start off with a phrase like 'I don't mean to pry,' it tips a person off that that's exactly what you intend to do."

Sam gave a nervous laugh, "I guess you're right."

Jim gave him a look that seemed to say 'well, of course I am.' Sam stalled, unsure if Jim had meant for him to continue or not, and an uneasy silence fell between.

Jim broke the silence first, "But then, I guess if you never get around to asking I won't have to worry about my privacy being intruded upon."

Sam frowned. He was able to detect amusement in the man's voice, but that didn't necessarily mean Jim was joking. Sam continued to watch the man, trying to gauge the seriousness of his previous statement, and was very nearly staring Jim down.

Finally Jim seemed to get fed-up with Sam's scrutiny, and he gave an aggravated huff, pinned Sam with clear blue eyes, and said, "For God's sake, son, if you've got something on your mind, just say it."

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed at how awkwardly the conversation seemed to be going. If he had known he was going to handle it so well, he'd have forced Dean to trade tasks with him. "It's just…" Sam paused. Originally he had intended to work his way up to talking about Tom, but Jim didn't seem like the type of guy to fall for any bullshit. He met Jim's eyes again, "It's about your friend that died. Tom?"

Jim's face instantly closed off and he tensed up, turning his gaze to the ground at his feet. "You some kind of reporter, or something?" Jim bit out harshly.

"No sir," Sam tried to shift around on the bench, but stopped suddenly when the benched creaked and tried to shift with him. "It's just…I'm here with my brother, well, _brothers_ actually. We sort of have this…job to do. I just want to make sure it's not dangerous here. I don't mean to bring up a painful subject, 'cause, believe me, I know what it's like to lose someone you care about, I just-" Sam stopped his nervous rambling when Jim turned sharply and regarded him with a hard, piercing look.

Empathy was always a tricky card to play. No matter how similar the situations, people were rarely able to believe that anyone could understand the kind of pain they were going through. Sam waited for the inevitable denial, for the demand that he mind his own business, but it never came. Jim looked at him long and hard, and Sam tried to look as sincere as possible. Jim must have seen the truth in Sam's eyes, or maybe just saw a reflection of his own pain, because his face gradually softened, and he said, "I wish for your sake you didn't."

Jim's eyes drifted back over the park as he continued, "At my age, you start expecting to lose the people close to you. It's just a fact of getting old…a fact of life. You're too young to have to know what that's like. It's a damn shame."

The man's heartfelt words took Sam by surprise, and he felt his throat constrict. Jim sagged against the tired bench, and neither of them said anything else for several minutes. Sam was beginning to think he should just go when Jim finally spoke again, "Tom never liked coming here. I mean…when we were kids."

"Even when we were just boys, he was never happy unless he was knee-deep in water." A reminiscent smile stole over his features, and his eyes took on a faraway look. "He loved to fish so much that sometimes I thought he was part-fish himself. And the truth is," Jim chuckled, "I never really liked fishing much. As an only child, I wished for a brother through all my early years. When I started school and met Tom…I stopped wishing for one. You may not know it looking at me now, but back then I was a bit of a runt. Tom, on the other hand, was one of the biggest boys in the class. He looked out for me then…he was always looking out for me I suppose. He may not have been a brother by blood, but he filled all the other requirements, nonetheless. Spending my Saturdays at the creek seemed a small price to pay.

"I was supposed to meet him at the creek that morning," the wistful expression slid from Jim's face, replaced by something more grim and haunted. "Actually, we would meet there most every morning. Tom always got there first, before the sun even started to show. I could never quite make it out of bed till the sun started peeking over the edge of the earth. But Tom, he never wanted to waste a bit of daylight.

"I followed the same path I take every day, and as I was walking…I noticed something just out of the corner of my eye. I don't know what it was that made me look, I just…" Jim swallowed hard, and his next words came out quiet and shaky as he got caught in the grip of the ghastly memory. "My whole life, I'd never seen anything like that. It was like something had been trying to tear him apart. Honestly, I wouldn't even have recognized him but I…I just _knew_ it was Tom. I don't know of anything that could have taken a man apart like that."

"The ranger service said they thought it was a bear or maybe rabid bobcat," Sam reminded.

Jim gave Sam a condescending look as though he had expected more intelligence from Sam. "I can tell you it wasn't a bear or a bobcat, even a rabid one. They're just saying that to cover their asses because they don't know what the hell it was either. But you can't really tell people that; it would cause too much panic. Not to mention it sounds more than a little crazy. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…" Jim trailed off, overcome by the memory again. Jim coughed, pulled the fisherman's hat off his head, and ran weathered fingers through his silver hair.

"What do you think it was?" Sam asked.

Jim returned the hat to his head, "I don't know, but I don't think it was anything natural. Call me a crazy old fool if you like."

"I don't think you're crazy," Sam told him seriously.

Jim gave Sam a sideways glance and then shook his head, "I think I'd feel better if you did. I don't think this is the last time it will happen either."

Sam canted his head, "What makes you say that?"

"This thing…whatever it is…I think it's the same thing that's been tearin' into the livestock of people who live on the outskirts of town. It started small with chickens and dogs and then it moved up and got a couple cows."

Sam looked surprised, "Why hasn't anyone mentioned this?"

Jim gave Sam another look that seemed to knock his intelligence, and said, "Son…nobody gives a damn about chickens and cows except the folks losin' 'em."

"Right," Sam said, chastised and nodding. "Do you happen to know about how long this has been going on?"

"A few months," Jim guessed. "There's been something missing or slaughtered nearly every week."

Every week…if Jim was right about the connection between that and Tom's death, then it couldn't be a werewolf. "Has all of this been happening in around the same area?" Sam asked.

Jim thought about it, "Like I said, it's mostly people who live on the outskirts, near the woods. Mostly toward the northern end of town."

"This creek that you and Tom fished in…was it near the north part of town?"

"A little further south," Jim amended, "but not by much."

Sam's mind began puzzling out the information he was gathering. Their werewolf theory had been ruled out, and all the killings (if they really were connected) were a bit too widespread to fit with their black dog theory. Sam hoped Dean was having better luck with his search at the library.

"So those boys you were with earlier…they're your brothers?" Jim asked.

"Huh?" Sam replied absently, still distracted by his thoughts. "I mean, yeah. Well, Dean is anyway. Xander is too, I guess, it's just…he's new." Sam tried to explain.

"He's the youngest, I suppose?" Jim guessed. Sam nodded, and Jim added, "Still…looked a bit old to just now be adopting him."

Sam laughed, "No, he's not adopted. Technically, he's our half-brother, and we only just met him a few days ago. We didn't even know he existed before that."

"Hmm," Jim said noncommittally. "It's good that you boys are getting to know each other."

"Yeah," Sam agreed fully. "Not to mention it's been nice not having to put up with Dean by myself," he joked.

Jim smiled in return, "Must be quite a turnaround not to be the youngest anymore."

That gave Sam some pause because, to be honest, the thought hadn't even occurred to him yet. For the first time, Sam was in the shoes of the older brother. Did that make him responsible for Xander? The thought was a bit daunting. There was a moment, before they'd left, that Sam had been ready to tell Xander the truth about the supernatural and damn the consequences, but Dean had been the voice of reason, already instinctually protecting a brother that they'd only just met. It was more than Sam could claim for himself. And even though Sam and Dean had finally gotten to a stage where they both watched each other's backs, Dean was still more protective of Sam than Sam was of Dean. When they were growing up, Dean had probably been more of a father to Sam than John had.

"I think Dean is probably better suited to the 'big brother' role," Sam told Jim.

Jim just gave him a knowing smile, "He's probably just had more practice. Give it time." Jim's expression turned dark. "Keep an eye on both of them while you're here. No matter what those rangers say, it's not safe here. You don't want to end up alone like-" the end of Jim's sentence was swallowed up before emotion could break his voice, but the sentiment was clear; Jim didn't want Sam to lose all his loved ones like he himself had.

Sam wished there were something he could say to the man to ease his pain, but as always in situations such as these, words were inadequate. Instead, Sam gave the only response he could think of. "I'll watch out for them," he promised seriously.

Jim nodded, taking what little reassurance from that statement as he could.

"I should probably check back in with them," Sam said, though he was leery of leaving Jim here by himself. He stood anyway, and the bench made a groaning noise.

"Yeah, I should head home soon, too," Jim said. His expression turned wry again as he regarded the bench they'd been sitting on, and he added, "Before this bench gives out completely and lays me out flat on my ass."

Sam laughed out loud, "Take care of yourself, Mr. Hastings."

"It's Jim," Jim corrected. "And you take care of yourself too. And your brothers."

Sam left determined that he wouldn't let anything happen to his either one of his brothers and hoping that Dean was able to dig up some information that could shed some light on what the hell was going on in the sleepy town of Waiverton.

* * *

Xander had that slice of pie after all as he waited out the last ten minutes of Avery's shift. Avery had offered it to him on the house, but Ned quickly slapped that idea down with an angry yell from the kitchen. Avery had turned bright red, and Xander had said he didn't mind paying.

Xander finished his pie just as Avery came out of the back room, now wearing jeans and a dark blue tank top instead of her waitress uniform. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yep," Xander replied, jumping up out of his seat. They made their way to the exit, and Xander held the door open as Avery stepped outside. "Where to first?" Xander asked.

Avery gave a little gesture to the left, and they began walking that way. "Most of everything can be found on one street. This street, actually."

"The beauty of a small town," Xander replied knowingly.

"Are you from a small town too?" Avery asked.

"One of the smallest it seems like," Xander said. "At least as far as California goes."

"California, wow," Avery's eyes widened in surprise. "That's a long way from here."

"Yeah, and the ride seems twice as long when you're riding with Dean," Xander added.

Avery turned to look at him as they continued down the street, "How did you meet up with those guys anyway?"

"It's kind of an interesting story, actually. We're related," Xander said.

"Like you're cousins or something?" Avery asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"More like brothers," Xander explained. "Half-brothers really. I just met them a few days ago."

Avery's eyes got even wider, if possible, "Oh wow. How's that working out?"

"Good," Xander answered quickly without really considering the question. "Well, mostly. I mean…sometimes I'm not sure Dean actually likes me, but he did let me tag along, right?" Actually, Xander wondered if setting him up with Avery was just Dean's way of getting rid of Xander for a while. Xander had thought they'd been getting along, but maybe Dean found the younger man to be more of a nuisance than anything else and was regretting his decision to bring Xander along.

Avery didn't really know much about the situation but nodded her assent to Xander's question anyway. "What about Sam?"

"Sam seems like a cool guy," he informed her. Xander was quiet for a moment because he couldn't honestly say how Sam felt about him. Sam had never had as volatile a reaction as Dean had, but that didn't necessarily mean he was happy with the situation. "We haven't exactly bonded or anything, but I don't think he _dislikes_ me," Xander ruled out.

Avery seemed to sense Xander's inner-turmoil, "It must be difficult, meeting family for the first time after all these years. There's so much that you've all missed out on. I can't imagine what it must be like."

The more Xander thought on it, the more surreal the situation became. Less than two weeks ago he'd been fighting for his life in Sunnydale High's courtyard, and now he was on the opposite side of the continent with two guys he barely knew. It was odd how battling a giant snake-demon seemed the more normal of the two.

Before Xander's thoughts could spiral completely into chaos, he turned the line of questioning toward Avery. "What about you? Do you have family here?"

Avery shook her head with a rather sad smile. "It's just me. My parents died when I was pretty young, so my grandma raised me. She passed on a few years ago."

Xander tried not to wince at the painful subject he'd inadvertently brought them to, "I'm sorry."

Avery shrugged and smiled forgivingly, "I'm okay really. I also have some family in Ohio, but I've never really met them before."

"Maybe you can track them down sometime, like I did mine," Xander suggested brightly. "It's working out okay for me, so far."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Avery returned happily, and Xander was gratified to see that the sadness in her smile had lessened. "Maybe you'll inspire me to seek out my own family reunion. And I've always wanted to travel."

"There ya go," Xander gestured with a hand. "It's like a two-for-one special."

They walked on for a few more paces, and Avery spoke again, "You know, I've just realized I'm being a bit remiss in my tour-guide duties. So I should point out that if you look to your left here, you'll see Robbie's antique shop, which also houses the town's largest salt-and-pepper shaker collection." After a beat, she added thoughtfully, "Possibly even the largest in the world."

"You've gotta wonder what anyone would do with that much salt and pepper," Xander stated with a hint of amusement.

Avery pretended to seriously consider it for a moment, "Achieve the Guinness Record for highest cholesterol?"

"Only if they didn't keel over first," Xander pointed out. "Talk about a risky competition."

Avery giggled, bringing a grin to Xander's face.

Avery waved to the next establishment in line, "And now I'll bring your attention to our one-screen theater. It's probably the most happening place in town…mostly because it's the _only_ happening place in town." For a moment it looked like Avery was going to say something else, her features scrunching up in a nervous sort of expression, but she quickly cast it off in favor of saying, "We can cross over here." She gestured to the white-painted street-crossing. "There's not really much else to see past this point."

They crossed to the opposite side of the street, swung a right, and began heading in the direction they'd originally come from.

"Oh, Xander, look," Avery lightly tugged on his arm, pulling him to the window of the grocery store. "Aren't they cute?"

On the other side of the glass, in a cardboard box that had 'free' written on its side in magic marker, was a litter of Dalmatian puppies. Avery kneeled down and pressed her face closer to the glass.

She turned back to look at him, a cheerful gleam in her eyes. "I have a dog," she told him. "His name is Razor." Xander made a face at the thought of how a dog might garner such a name, and Avery must have noticed because she hastened to explain, "He's really a total softie; a complete teddy bear. He just has this naughty habit of chewing through the furniture." She turned back to the puppies, "I think maybe it's just because he's lonely. I've been thinking another pet might be good for him. You know, so he's got someone to play with?"

"Well, you're not likely to get a better offer than free," Xander pointed out helpfully.

Avery stood, "You're right! One should never turn down a free offer without good reason. Do you mind?" Avery asked, nodding her head in the direction of the door.

"Not at all," Xander said. He certainly didn't mind putting their tour on hold for some puppy shopping.

Xander pulled open the heavy glass door, and as the two entered they were greeted by the owner who was lingering behind a cash register, "Good afternoon, Avery."

"Good afternoon, Mister Taylor," Avery returned, earning her a fatherly smile from the middle-aged man. She motioned to her companion, "This is Xander."

"Hello, sir," Xander gave his own greeting accompanied by a half-wave.

"Sir," Taylor echoed, chuckling good-humoredly. "You kids make me feel old." Though Taylor's hair was sprinkled with gray and thinning slightly, his eyes still held a spark of youth.

"I'm just showing Xander here around town," Avery explained.

"Oh, did you just move here?" Taylor asked, giving Xander an interested look as he moved out from around the small check-out counter.

"Actually, I'm just here visiting. I'm here with my family." Xander was surprised by how easily 'family' had rolled off his tongue. It had been quite some time since Xander had been able to apply the word 'family' to any of his blood relatives without the words 'dysfunctional' or 'alcoholic' directly preceding it. And it had been even longer since he'd been on a 'family outing', if a road trip could be called an outing.

The last time he could remember had been a Fourth of July barbeque at the park when he was nine. Tony, drunk as usual, had unintentionally set the hamburgers aflame after which his mother attempted to put out the flames with Tony's beer, succeeding only in exacerbating the problem. Tony had then yelled at her in front of all the other park-goers for her having wasted his beer.

His most recent picnic experience with Buffy and Willow had been a far better experience even counting the mid-picnic demon attack and post-picnic demon burial.

That Xander had so readily applied the word 'family' to his newfound brothers indicated just how much they were affecting him.

"We wanted to take a look at the puppies," Avery said to Taylor, dragging Xander's attention back to the present.

"Sure, go ahead," Taylor agreed happily.

Avery made her way over to the box of puppies, crouched down, and immediately scooped up one of the spotted pups. She stood and turned back around to face the two men, "Aw, Xander, look. Isn't she cute?"

"As a button," Xander agreed.

"I've been trying to convince Jeanie to keep one," Taylor put in, "but after what happened to Leo and Gemini…" he trailed off, shaking his head regretfully.

"What happened?" Xander asked.

"Well, Jeanie and her husband, Craig, live on the outskirts of town, and we've been having a lot of problems with bobcats lately," Taylor started. "One of 'em got to the dogs, and there wasn't much left. Jeanie was a mess about the whole thing. It won't be the same not seeing them walking those two dogs everywhere."

"Poor girl," Avery murmured, petting the puppy in her arms consolingly. "Losing both your parents like that."

"Mister Taylor," a shrill voice rang out and shortly after a much older woman with gray hair pulled back in a tight bun appeared from behind a shelf. "I insist you return the pasta to its rightful aisle."

Taylor cringed as though his day had just taken a swan-dive into a pool of sewage. "Miss Landry, the pasta is exactly where it's always been."

Miss Landry harrumphed loudly, but her expression warmed when she saw Xander and Avery. "Avery dear, how are you?" Before Avery could answer, Miss Landry's eyes slid over to Xander taking on a predatory gleam, "And who is this strapping young man."

The old woman looked at him like he was the canary to her cat, and Xander's eyes widened fearfully. He inched closer to Avery and wondered if hiding behind her could be construed as cowardice on his part.

Taylor noticed the by-play and, with a grimace of grudging self-sacrifice, stepped in to take the heat off Xander. "Miss Landry, why don't I show you where that pasta is?"

Miss Landry turned frosty eyes on him and lifted her nose in the air as she haughtily said, "I suppose it's the very _least_ you do." Without waiting for him, she turned on her heel and stalked off down the aisle.

Taylor had the face of a man marching off to face a firing squad as he turned to follow her, and Xander gave him a grateful but pitying look.

Avery clutched the puppy in one arm and covered her mouth with her other hand in an attempt to stifle her giggles. "The look on your face," the muffled words came out between laughs.

"You laugh, but I seriously think she was planning to put me in her basket and cook me up for dinner," Xander protested, only serving to make Avery laugh harder.

"It's okay," she whispered, leaning toward Xander close enough that he could smell her flowery perfume. "I think she has a crush on Mister Taylor."

"If that's how she treats people she likes, I hate to see how she treats the people she doesn't like." Xander shuddered to think of what the poor man must be enduring now.

Avery shook her head with a grin before turning around and kneeling to return the puppy to the box. She picked up another as Xander knelt next to her, "Oh, Xander, they're all so adorable. How can I pick just one?"

"Well, you could go the Walt Disney route and take them all," Xander reasoned. "Although you're going to have to find a lot more if you're ever going to make it to one hundred and one."

One of the puppies was trying to climb the side of the cardboard box to vie for their attention but was continuously getting pushed aside by the bigger puppies. Xander picked him up, "What about this guy?" The puppy stretched its neck so that it could lick Xander on the nose.

Avery eyed the pup, and her nose wrinkled up, "He's a bit of a runt, isn't he?"

"Hey," Xander objected. "Don't knock us underdogs. Occasionally we can surprise you."

Avery's face softened, and she looked at the puppy once more, "Well, he does look rather sweet." Avery put down the puppy she was holding and gently took the one from Xander's hands. The puppy seemed more timid in her hands, but Xander couldn't blame him for being shy around the ladies. Avery gave Xander a smile, "I definitely think he's a keeper."

Avery cradled the pup in her arms and moved to stand. Xander stood as well, casting an apprehensive glance toward the back of the store. "Do you think we should check on Mister Taylor?"

"Mister Taylor, this is positively the most appalling excuse for a tomato I've ever seen," filtered through from somewhere near the vegetable bins.

Xander winced, "On second thought, every man for himself, right?"

"Don't worry," Avery said, lightly bumping him with her shoulder as they moved toward the exit, "I'll protect you from flirty old ladies."

"Flirty? Try _frightening_," Xander corrected as they resumed the trek down the sidewalk.

"Oh come on," Avery laughed. "She wasn't really that bad."

"Yeah, you can laugh this off, your virtue wasn't at stake," Xander suddenly seemed to realize what he'd said, "Not that _mine_ was, because I'm not- I mean, _I_ _have_-" Rather than continue to embarrass himself, Xander asked, "So what are you going to name this little guy?" he jerked a thumb toward their new four-legged friend.

"I don't know," she held the shivering puppy out from herself so she could look him over. "Any ideas?"

"How about Spot?" Xander threw out.

It was completely corny and clichéd, but Avery laughed anyway, "Yeah, I think that fits." She drew the newly-named Spot closer again, and the three ambled onward.

"So what haven't I seen yet?" Xander asked.

"Unsurprisingly, not much. The post office is just up ahead. Actually, I was thinking maybe you could hold Spot while I run in to check my mail," Avery gave him a pleading smile.

"Of course," Xander smiled back. "Us boys will bond."

Avery handed over Spot and hurried into the post office.

Xander looked down at Spot, who was now doing his best to climb up hi shirt. "Just between you and me," Xander confided, "Avery's pretty cute, huh?" Spot wagged his tail and looked back at him with dark, expressive eyes. Xander leaned in a little closer and whispered, "I think she likes me."

Spot's climbing brought him to Xander's shoulder and he nuzzled a cold nose into Xander's ear. "Hey man, that tickles," Xander complained, trying to lean his head out of reach of the energetic puppy's tongue.

"Xander!" Avery came out of the post office and ran up to him. She waved around a small, brown-wrapped box, "I finally got it!"

Xander couldn't guess what _it_ was, but it obviously had Avery excited to the point of near-giddiness. "Well open it up; let's see what the hubbub is all about."

Avery went about tearing off paper, and ripping the tape off the cardboard box's flaps. She stuck her hand in, fished out the box's object, and proudly held it out for Xander to see.

He stared blankly at it as though waiting for the punch line, "It's a rock." It was indeed a rock, small with jagged edges in a glossy, red and pitch-black hue.

Avery flushed slightly with embarrassment, "I know it's really nerdy, but I like to collect rocks. This one is really rare, it's from…" she trailed off, blushing again. "You don't really care where it's from."

Xander attempted to alleviate whatever embarrassment she felt, "While I've never been an academic sort myself, I've been a lifelong best friend to one who is, and I can smile and nod with best of them. Not to mention, there are probably more than a few action figures in my closet back home."

Xander's words had the desired effect, and Avery's face lit up with a smile again. "Shall we continue our tour?" Xander asked, hanging on to Spot with one arm while holding out his other arm to Avery in old-fashioned gallantry.

"Yes, lets," Avery answered, slipping the black rock in her pocket and tucking her hand into the crook of Xander's arm.

"Oh, and um…you won't mention that whole action figure thing to Sam or Dean, will you?"

Avery chuckled, "Your secret is safe with me."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks to Happylilminion for beta-ing for me. And thank you to everyone who has reviewed!

* * *

Sam had been waiting in their second-floor room at Martha's bed-and-breakfast for close to fifteen minutes before Dean came trudging in with a frustrated expression.

Sam had hoped Dean would have better luck with his search at the library, but the first words out of his mouth were, "Dude, I hope you had better luck than I did, because I found jack. No church grounds, burial grounds, roadways, or mysterious deaths. If there's anything historically freaky in those woods, it's not on record."

Sam shook his head disappointedly, his hopes dashed. "Well, all I can tell you is what it's not," Sam offered up meagerly.

"And what's that?" Dean asked, leaning casually against the room's small dresser.

"It's not a werewolf," Sam refuted. He went on to relate what he'd learned from Jim Hastings, "Whatever this is, I don't think it started with Tom. Hastings said there've been animal killings at outlying farms nearly every week."

Dean frowned thoughtfully at the new information. "Are we sure they're related?"

"Maybe not," Sam relented to the possibility, "but if not, it's one hell of a coincidence. The locals are attributing it to the killer bobcats, but…" Sam trailed off. They both knew if it were as simple as wild animal attacks, they wouldn't be here.

Dean nodded, piecing things together, "Okay, so not a werewolf and probably not a black dog either. So where does that leave us?"

"Back at square one?" Sam guessed, throwing his arms up in aggravation.

"We've worked situations with less information before," Dean said. He rubbed his jaw with a considering expression for a moment before asking, "Where are most of these killings taking place?"

Sam glanced at Dean, "Edge of the forest, mostly near the northern part of town."

"So we don't know _what_ it is," Dean said, an idea forming.

Sam caught on to what Dean was thinking, "But we know where it might be."

Dean shrugged slightly, "It's not an ideal situation, walking into this blind, but at the moment it's the most we've got."

Sam scoffed, "So we're just going to load up a couple of shotguns and traipse around the forest hoping we find this thing?"

Dean took offense at Sam's incredulous tone and glared at him, "Do you have a better idea? I didn't say it was a great plan, but it's the best we've got right now. I don't intend to let anyone else die in this town." Dean pulled away from the dresser and moved to look out the bedroom window.

For Dean, the family monster hunting business had become more about protecting people, whereas, for Sam and their father, revenge was usually closer to first rather than a trailing second. However, after talking with Jim, it was definitely something Sam could get on board with.

Sam conceded Dean's point and returned to puzzling out the logistics of how to hunt this thing, "We'll have to think of something to tell Xander."

Dean looked over his shoulder at him with a sly expression, "Actually, Xander and Avery are looking pretty cozy. Maybe we'll be lucky and the kid will actually have a date with her."

Sam moved to where Dean was standing and peered out the window. True enough, he could see Xander and Avery below standing together on the sidewalk looking engrossed in conversation. Sam quirked a smile, "It would make things a little easier if he was distracted. Our handyman excuse is looking a little thin, and I don't know how much longer he'll buy it."

"Well with any luck, we'll track this thing down tonight, kill it, and then tomorrow we can get back on the road," Dean said with a carefree grin.

Dean's optimism aside, Sam could only hope things would work out so well. Because in reality, they rarely ever did.

* * *

"So here we are," Avery waved toward the two-story house. "Martha's bed-and-breakfast. I think you've seen everything in town now."

Xander shuffled anxiously on the sidewalk not really wanting their time together to come to an end. Xander had thought she was pretty the moment he saw her, found her to be quite funny as he talked to her, and as they'd gone about their tour he'd also found they had a shared geekiness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a connection with a girl who wasn't a friend and strictly hands-off, like Willow. Granted every time he had before it had ended badly, but he hoped that being thousands of miles away from the Hellmouth might put a refreshing spin on dating.

"I think maybe we wore Spot out," Xander told Avery, looking down at the warm bundle of fur in his arms. Spot had eventually tired out his puppy stamina and was now sleeping peacefully in the crook of Xander's arm. Xander gently rubbed a hand over the puppy as he continued to doze.

"Guess it was too much excitement for one day," Avery commented. She shifted somewhat nervously as well, and Xander hoped it was because she was as reluctant to separate as he was.

"Hey, Xander," Avery's words came out suddenly and urgently, and a blush shaded her face.

"Yeah?" Xander asked, feeling just as urgent.

Avery looked down at her feet, her next words coming out a bit mumbled, "I was thinking…" She paused, then looked up at him resolutely and asked in a more confident voice, "Would like to go to a movie with me tonight?"

Xander had a brief moment where he thought he might swallow his tongue, but he managed to get his answer out around his wide grin, "Sounds like an excellent idea."

Avery smiled brilliantly, and Xander had to put forth some effort not to twitter like some schoolgirl at the sight.

"Great!" Avery returned, her eyes flashing excitedly. "I've got a few things I've got to take care of at home, but how about I meet you back here at…say, seven?"

Xander nodded his head repeatedly with a smile that he thought might be stuck on him for the rest of the week, "I'll be waiting."

Avery smiled back, shyly tucking her hair behind an ear, "Well, I'll see you later then." She stared at him a beat longer before turning and starting down the side walk.

Xander stared blissfully after her. Spot, having been forgotten in the excitement, took this opportunity to stir in Xander's arms and paw playfully at his shirt, reminding the man of his presence. "Hey Avery wait," Xander called.

Avery turned and quickly moved back toward him. "Yeah?" she asked somewhat breathlessly with bright eyes.

Xander gestured to the squirming, tail-wagging pup. "I think you forgot someone."

Avery blushed embarrassedly, "Oh, right."

Xander held Spot out to her, causing the dog to yelp at the sudden loss of contact with Xander's solid chest as his short legs fought for sturdier purchase. The spotted dog whimpered as he was exchanged from Xander's hands to Avery's, and his tail-end twisted furtively making his black ears flop about. Then Avery pulled him close to her chest and he stilled again, tucking his tail underneath himself.

"So I'll see you at seven?" Xander reiterated, double-checking that he hadn't imagined the upcoming date.

"Definitely," Avery affirmed.

They shared a smile before Avery turned and once again headed for home. Xander's eyes trailed after her again for a moment until finally he turned and made his way into the bed-and-breakfast.

The moment Xander entered the door he was greeted by a short, plump, middle-aged woman with pink sponge-rollers in her hair and a wide, bubbly smile.

"Well, hello. And what can I do for you?" she asked in a squeaky voice that matched her bubbly grin.

Xander smiled back despite himself, "Maybe you could help me find some people? Two guys came here to-"

"You must be Xander," the woman stated, moving out from the behind the counter where she'd been seated. "I'm Martha," she introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you," Xander said politely and shook the offered hand. "So I take it they are here?" he asked again.

"Oh, sure, they're here. Such nice young men too." She smoothed down the blue-flowered moo-moo she wore, "And that Dean…such a charmer."

Xander had to forcefully swallow the chuckle that rose in his throat. "That sounds like Dean. I, uh, don't suppose you could point me to their room?"

"Why sure!" she exclaimed happily, bouncing eagerly past him and up the stairs in her fuzzy, purple slippers.

Xander trailed after her with a wry shake of his head. They went up a spiral, wooden staircase, turned left when they reached the landing, and then headed for the door at the end of the hall.

When they reached the door, Martha knocked lightly, inching inward so that her body was nearly pressed against the door. Xander worried that she might fall through when the door was pulled open by Dean seconds later, but she managed to maintain her balance despite what the laws of gravity might dictate.

Dean on the other hand looked like he'd opened the door expecting the mail man and found a trick-or-treater instead.

"Hi, Dean," Martha drawled girlishly, and Xander imagined she was probably batting her eyelashes at the older man.

"Missus Jennings," Dean said back with a tight smile.

Martha attempted to wedge herself further in the doorway as she scolded Dean playfully, "Now, Dean, you know I'm not married. And I've told you to call me Martha."

"Right," Dean faked a chuckle as though her suggestion had merely slipped his mind. He pinned Xander with an accusatory look as though this was all somehow his fault. Xander just shrugged in reply.

"How are you boys liking the room? Anything else I can get for you?" she leaned closer to Dean, and it looked like it took all of Dean's restraint not to lean away.

"Actually, sweetheart," Dean pasted on a charming smile despite the 'fight or flight' panic in his eyes, "the room is perfect. Couldn't think of single thing to improve it."

Martha practically twittered at the praise, and even Xander was impressed with Dean's ability to charm with such ease even in a situation where he clearly wanted an out.

"I'd also like to thank you for bringing Xander in," Dean gestured to the younger man as if he were some sort of errant child who'd wandered off unattended.

Xander was completely caught off guard when Dean's arm shot out, and the older man fisted a hand in his shirt and jerked him into the room (which was quite a feat considering how Martha was doing her best to monopolize the doorway).

"It was no trouble at all," Martha replied, taking Dean's thanks to heart. Her eyes now had a dreamy, star-struck quality to them.

"We should probably let you get back to work; keeping this place as nice as you do probably keeps you busy," Dean tried to persuade her.

She looked reluctant to leave the doorway, her fuzzy-slippered feet shuffling on the hardwood floor. "Well, you just be sure to let me know if there's anything else I can…do for you," she finished, sending a sly grin in Dean's direction.

Xander hoped he was just imagining the suggestiveness in her voice. It would be easy to laugh at Dean's expense, but after Xander's brief encounter with Miss Landry in the grocery store he felt a great deal of empathy toward his brother. Xander didn't think he'd ever met so many desperate women in the course of one day (with the exception of the day involving his love spell gone-wrong back in junior year), and he absently wondered if maybe there was something in the local water supply.

"You know we will," Dean grinned, his voice dripping with insincerity that seemed to be lost on Martha.

She gave him a toothy grin and turned to go. She was barely half a step away from the doorway before Dean was hurriedly swinging the door shut behind her. He put his back to the door, leaning heavily against it as though he'd narrowly escaped a close encounter of the demonic kind.

"Looks like I missed a lot," Xander pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Just Dean making a new friend," Sam laughed.

Dean sent an unamused glare toward Sam who was seated on one of the beds close to the far wall.

Sam was unaffected by Dean's glare, finding too much humor in his brother's predicament to pass up some good ribbing, "Pastor Jim always said your way with the ladies would get you into trouble one day."

Dean's expression turned to one of smug satisfaction and he shrugged, "Well, what can I say? Sometimes it's a burden being God's gift to women." Ignoring Sam and Xander's snorts of disbelief, Dean added, "Not that either one of you two would know anything about that. We can't all be perfect."

Xander spotted his bag next to the far wall then, which had apparently been brought up by Dean or Sam at some point, and Xander waved a dismissive hand as he moved toward it. "Enough about Dean and his new girlfriend," he picked up his bag, unzipped it, and started dragging out various shirts, "because _I_ have a date tonight."

Xander missed the relieved look that passed between the other two men as he tried to find a nice, date-worthy shirt that was still relatively clean.

"So, you finally asked her out?" Dean asked enthusiastically from somewhere behind him.

"Not exactly," Xander hedged, passing over his alien shirt and pulling out the remaining two shirts in the hopes that one of them would suffice. "She asked _me_ out."

Dean had a chagrined look when Xander turned around. "Well, I suppose it's a start," Dean conceded.

Xander shrugged and held up the two shirts he'd managed to dig out. "Which do you think?" he asked Dean's opinion.

Dean stared blankly at the suggested clothing. "Oh, I've really got my work cut out for me."

"Don't listen to him, Xander," Sam consoled the younger man as he moved around the bed to get a better view of the shirts he was holding. "Dean's just jealous that he-" Sam stopped suddenly as he finally caught a glimpse of Xander's shirts. "Oh."

At the part-surprised, part-repulsed expression that stole across Sam's face, Xander tossed the shirts, one bright, lime-green colored and the other Hawaiian-print, onto the bed. He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair in frustration. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Let's not panic," Sam said immediately, trying to calm Xander some. "I mean…it's not _that_ bad."

"What? Are you kidding?" Dean jumped in. He shook his head at the reprimanding look Sam gave him, "I don't know how either of you ever score any dates."

"I _have_ better shirts," Xander said in a vain attempt to make his circumstances seem less pathetic. "It's just that these are the only clean ones I have left."

"Well if those two are the only options you have, you might be better off going with smelly," Dean said seriously, only managing to upset Xander more.

"You know, if you don't have anything helpful to say," Sam said pointedly to Dean.

"All right…all right," Dean laid off, holding his hands up in surrender. He moved to his own bag and started riffling through it. Eventually, he pulled out a simple dark-gray t-shirt, held it up to his nose, and then shrugged, apparently satisfied with its state of cleanness, and tossed it to Xander. "There. That should do."

Xander caught the shirt, glancing at it quickly before looking back up at Dean with an astounded expression, "That's your idea of improvement."

"Unless Avery's colorblind in which case I suppose it won't make much difference," Dean told him honestly. "Now am I going to have to give you a talk about the birds and the bees?"

Xander looked to Sam for assistance but the taller man's expression seemed to say _you're on your own_. Xander gave Dean a look implying that his sarcasm was not appreciated, but decided to accept the shirt as the help in which it was intended. "Okay, I'm going to hit the shower. Avery's meeting me here at seven."

"Seven. Good time…just before dark," Dean stated obviously.

Xander and Sam both looked at Dean as though a couple of his screws had come loose.

Sam ignored Dean and turned to Xander. "There's a bathroom down the hall, and Martha gave us a cabinet-full of towels." Sam moved to the dresser where there really was a stack, nearly six-high, of towels. He pulled one off the top and handed it to the younger man.

"Just be sure you guys stay away from the forest," Dean recommended. "And don't stay out too late."

Xander gave him another weird look, "Anything else mom?"

"Yeah, but we can discuss protection later," Dean said imperiously.

Xander briefly looked scandalized, but then he decided he'd had enough of Dean's ribbing, and he hefted his bag to his shoulder and made his way toward the door, throwing over his shoulder as he did, "And if I see Martha in the hall, I'll be sure to let her know you're interested in a backrub."

He pulled the door shut on Dean's outraged cry and made his way down the hall to the bathroom with a gloating smile. After all, turn-about was fair play.

* * *

"Shh!"

"Damnit, Sam, stop shushing me."

"I would if you'd quit talking," was Sam's whispered reply. "If you're so concerned about what Xander and Avery are doing on their date, maybe you should have gone with them to play chaperone."

"I'm not _concerned_," Dean shot back in an angry whisper of his own. "I'm just saying I hope he's making a good impression. I mean, if it's true that he's related to me, I can't have him making me look bad by association. I have a reputation to maintain. It's bad enough having you around."

"Whatever," Sam sighed in reply, letting the dig slide. "But we're not going to find this thing with all the noise you're making."

"Right, 'cause your big feet stomping around are so stealthy. And you know, creeping around like a couple of rabbits didn't help us find it the first hour we were looking for this thing, it doesn't seem to be working now either. Maybe a little noise is what we need."

"Right, because we _want_ it to see us coming and completely screw any chance of surprise," Sam said sardonically.

"Well I didn't come out here for a nature hike," Dean gave an exasperated sigh. "Whose stupid idea was this anyway?"

"I believe it was _your_ stupid idea," Sam replied to the muttered words that he probably wasn't meant to hear.

Dean jerked to an aggravated stop causing Sam to turn around and look at him. "I didn't hear you offering up any better ideas," Dean bit out.

They'd been trudging through the forest for two tense hours without any sign of the creature, and their nerves were beyond frayed. Both men were armed with shotguns, and Dean had a machete latched to his belt in a sheath at his hip, but for all their preparedness, it seemed as if they weren't likely to see any action tonight.

"Damnit," Dean yelled in frustration.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, gripping his shotgun tightly in his other hand, and leaned against a tree. "Maybe we should just call it a night," Sam suggested. He was tired and frustrated and getting more annoyed with the situation by the minute, and he knew Dean wasn't fairing much better.

"And _then_ what?" Dean questioned, clearly opposed to Sam's idea of calling it quits.

"I don't know," Sam threw his arms up in angry frustration.

They were in the middle of God-forsaken-nowhere, looking for who-knew-what, and why? Because their father had sent them. And they hadn't seen any sign of him either. That pissed Sam off more than a little.

"Lives could be at stake here," Dean reminded him, as if Sam wasn't already completely aware of that fact.

"I _know_ that, Dean, but exactly what the hell are we supposed to do? It's not like Dad gave us a lot to go on."

Dean's face crinkled in confusion as if Sam's comment had come out of far-left field, "What exactly does Dad have to do with this?"

"Apparently nothing," Sam uttered angrily. "I think it's pretty obvious he's not here."

Dean groaned loudly, "Do we really have to do this now?"

"He's been missing for months, and the first time we hear from him he sends us on a job," Sam raised his voice, fury tingeing his words.

"So?" Dean shrugged, incomprehension written all over his face.

Sam was floored. "_So_? That's all you have to say?"

Dean shifted his shotgun to his other hand and dragged his right hand roughly through his hair, "What am I supposed to say, Sam? Dad sent here for a reason, and now we need to take care of this thing." He stated it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Some days the differences between the two brothers drove Sam right to the brink of madness. He simply could not understand how Dean could be so blind in his devotion to their father. And this was just another one of those instances.

"Dean, I know this may never have occurred to you before, but we don't always have to do what Dad says," Sam said like he was imparting some hard-learned wisdom. "In fact, maybe it would be better if we didn't."

Sam could tell from Dean's expression that his older brother wasn't really falling in with Sam's train of thought.

"Are you saying we should ditch this hunt?" Dean asked, disbelief apparent in his features.

"No," Sam conceded they probably were needed here, but the more he thought about it the more he wondered why it was _their_ problem, "or maybe I am. I don't know. All I'm saying is that maybe we should re-think this. We don't know what's going on with Dad, and it's obvious he doesn't have any intention of clueing us in on it, but that _doesn't_ mean he doesn't need our help. He could be in danger, and even if he isn't, damnit Dean, he shouldn't be shutting us out like this. We have just as much right to-"

"Sam!" Dean cut in sharply.

"No, Dean, I'm serious," Sam continued, not to be deterred. "Wherever Dad is, whatever's going on, we should-"

"Damnit, Sam, would you shut up for just a minute?" Dean bit out harshly in a low, rushed voice.

This time Sam heard the urgency in his brother's tone and noticed the tension in his stance and the way he was scanning the forest with a desperate alertness.

"Do you hear that?" Dean's voice held an undercurrent of worry.

Sam stilled, straining to hear what it was that had Dean troubled, but his ears couldn't pick out anything. That was when he understood. The forest, which should have been alive with the sound of crickets or small animals or wind or just _something_, was completely devoid of sound. The silence was so stifling it was like cotton balls had been stuffed in Sam's ears.

Sam only had a few seconds to ponder the change when a shrill, grating growl reverberated through the trees and shattered the silence.

"That's no bobcat," Sam breathed out quietly.

As if to confirm Sam's statement, there was a rustling noise about a dozen feet to their left in the same direction from which the growl had come, and in the dim light of the moon they could see a fearsome creature emerge.

The monster looked reptilian in nature, moonlight glinting off slimy, dark-green skin, but it had an almost human-like structure. It stood on two legs; its torso was disproportionately larger than its lower body, and it hunched over so that its massive, scaly arms almost dragged the ground. On each hand was a set of four-inch, razor-sharp claws that could easily shred them to pieces with a few swipes.

Sam's heart thudded with a sudden surge of fear, and it was only his lifetime's experience of seeing the bizarre and grotesque that kept him from gasping out loud.

Dean was the first to react, bringing his shotgun up with quick reflexes and firing dead-on into the creature's chest.

The monster staggered backward with the impact but remained standing, and if the furious roar it gave was any indication, the shot had done little more than to anger the creature.

Instinct took over now, and in an unspoken agreement both brothers turned away and began to run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. The creature took to the chase, barreling through the trees behind them with unearthly speed, and it became readily apparent that they'd never be able to outrun it.

"We split up!" Dean yelled over the sound of their raucous escape and the demon's fierce howls.

"Wait, Dean," Sam started in protest, but his brother was already veering off in another direction. He tried to listen for the creature to hear which direction it may have followed in, but he could hear very little over his pounding heart and the blood rushing through his ears and the sound of brush snapping as he tore through the forest.

He looked off to his right, hoping to catch sight of Dean, but he couldn't see his brother through the dense woods. He wanted to look behind him but he couldn't risk losing his footing and giving the creature the easy opportunity it was no doubt hoping for.

He pushed his legs harder and forced himself to ignore the way his lungs had started to burn, letting his years of training take over and push him beyond the limits to which normal people were accustomed.

He was taken by surprise when something heavy collided with his back and sent his shotgun flying from his hands. The impact sent him forcefully to the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs in a painful wheeze, and then he could feel something sharp tearing through the clothing on his back and slicing deeply into his skin. If he hadn't just had the wind knocked out of him, he probably would have screamed.

He could feel the creature's fetid breath on the back of his neck now, and he clawed the ground trying desperately to pull himself out of the creature's grasp, but the creature merely dug its claws deeper into the flesh between his shoulder blades causing Sam to cry out pain.

Suddenly the creature's pain-filled roar joined Sam's own cry, and Sam found himself able to scramble out from under the creature's heavy weight. He turned just in time to see Dean pull his machete from the creature's back only to stab it again with as much force as he could muster. The demon screamed again, and Dean continued hacking at it until the creature went silent and still and Dean was covered in gooey, green gore.

Both Sam and Dean were breathing heavily by the time it was all done, and Dean looked as if he might get sick.

"Dude, that is disgusting," Dean said, waving a hand in front of his face. He immediately distanced himself from the creature and moved closer to Sam, eying his younger brother with careful attention. "Are you all right?"

Now that Dean was near him, Sam could smell the putrid scent of the demon's blood, and he had to agree with Dean's assessment that it really was disgusting.

Sam took stock of his injuries. His chest throbbed from the harsh landing, no doubt it would be bruised by tomorrow, and the cuts on his back still stung painfully, but he didn't think anything was broken or damaged to the point of needing a hospital visit.

"I think I'll be all right," Sam stated. He moved to stand and suddenly Dean was by his side helping to pull him to his feet. Sam leaned heavily on his brother for a moment and was again overcome by the rancid smell of the gore covering the older man. As soon Sam could stand on his own without toppling over, he moved away from Dean, "God, dude, you stink."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Dean returned humorlessly, looking down at himself and the filth that covered him. "No way am I going to be able to get these clean again. Good thing this isn't my favorite shirt."

Sam edged toward the creature Dean had just slain, moving closer with lingering trepidation. When he was close enough to touch it, he used his boot to flip the monster on its back and then leaned down to examine it.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Sam asked curiously.

Dean took a few steps closer, surveying the corpse with resentful distaste. "No," he answered, "and it doesn't look like anything I've ever heard about."

Sam looked to his brother, "So what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, nonplussed.

"Well we can't just leave it here, can we?" Sam prompted.

Dean looked down at the creature again, disgust playing over his features anew. "I'm not dragging that's thing's carcass anywhere," he told Sam firmly, "and we didn't remember to bring any shovels. So I say we just leave it here, and let nature do its job.

"Besides, we need to get back and get you patched up before Xander gets back," Dean added.

Sam thought about protesting the logic in leaving the body behind for just anybody to find but was really too tired and in too much pain to care. His temporary adrenaline rush was quickly evaporating and all he could think about was getting back to their room, into bed, and pulling the covers over his head. "Yeah," he agreed and then turned to look his brother up and down in a repulsed manner, "and you really need a shower."

Dean stared at him for a moment with a put-out expression before gesturing with his goo-covered machete in the direction they would need to go. "Just start walking," he commanded.

They both gave a last glance to the rotting corpse at their feet before turning away, leaving the gruesome scene at their backs as they made their way out of the forest.


	13. Chapter 13

Xander and Avery stumbled through the theater doors out onto the sidewalk, barely able to remain upright with the laughter wracking their bodies. Xander had an arm wrapped around his stomach and was nearly doubled-over at the waist while Avery clung to Xander's side for support. At a glance a passerby would probably think them a couple or possibly old friends sharing a joke.

"Oh man," Avery wheezed as her laughing finally started to wind down. "I don't think I've ever laughed so hard." She wiped at her eyes which were nearly brimming now after such heavy laughter. "Do you think the director intended that scene to be so funny?" Avery asked.

Xander's laughter was finally calming enough that he noticed the way Avery's body was still pressing close to his and it took a minute before he was able to process the question and form a reply, "I don't know; you'd think deathbed dialogue should have a little more depth. Maybe if they'd cut the bad accents. '_Twas the chicken_," Xander mimicked the earlier scene from the movie, tweaking the dialogue slightly and completing the act with gasping breath and a tacky accent, "'_Twere bad_."

Avery dissolved into another round of laughs, leaning heavily on Xander again, and he laughed in returned, his arm moving around her shoulders of its own accord.

When their laughing had tapered off again, Avery took in a lungful of air trying to recover her breath but was still unable to wipe the huge grin off her face. "I don't think Molly Phillips appreciated our movie commentary as much as we did."

Xander gave her an inquisitive look, "Who?"

"The woman sitting in front of us," Avery explained.

Xander vaguely remembered the prim-looking blonde woman who sat in the row in front of them and shot them snide looks as they played a round of Mystery Science Theater.

Avery continued, leaning in closer to whisper conspiratorially, "She's the town's biggest gossip. No doubt she was just dying for the movie to end so she could go talk about us around town."

Xander gave a mock-worried expression, "She'll no doubt paint me as the dangerous out-of-towner, here to corrupt all impressionable young women."

"Actually, that sounds more like your brother Dean's MO," Avery corrected, slight disapproval coloring her voice.

Xander bristled a little at her tone, strangely feeling the need to rush to his brother's defense even though he didn't really know the man well enough to contradict her statement and suspected that it was probably more accurate rather than less. However, it didn't really matter whether the statement were true or not; he didn't like the slight against his brother that she seemed to be implying, and the protectiveness that welled up in him, a feeling that was usually reserved for Buffy or Willow, caught him off guard.

Then Avery turned and graced him with a shy, sweet smile, and he felt some of his defensiveness ease up.

"I don't think you have much to worry about though. Most people know better than to believe anything Molly says," Avery confided.

"So I shouldn't worry about getting run out of town with torches and pitchforks?"

Avery shook her head. "No, I definitely think you should stick around."

That was when they both seemed to notice how close together they were standing with Xander's arm wrapped around Avery's shoulders and her hands almost clutching at his shirt. They both blushed brightly and moved away, putting some space between them.

Xander cleared his throat, then drawled, "So…um…" He glanced at his watch, "I guess it's getting kind of late."

"Yeah, and I have the morning shift again tomorrow; I should probably call it a night," Avery said regretfully. She lowered her face a bit, causing her hair to fall forward hiding her face behind its veil. "But I suppose I could walk you back first," she suggested shyly.

"That's very chivalrous of you," Xander teased her playfully.

Avery looked up with a grin, "Well, I believe in feminism as much as the next girl. Why should men have to do all the work?"

"Here, here," Xander rooted.

He turned in the direction of the bed-and-breakfast to start off the walk, and as he did, Avery tentatively slipped her hand into his. He glanced at her and she seemed to give him a questioning sort of look, so he smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. She smiled back and they began ambling down the sidewalk at an easy pace.

"So your brothers didn't mind sparing you for the night?" Avery asked.

"No, actually they had some stuff of their own to take care of," Xander replied with a somewhat melancholy tone. As a matter of fact, they had damn near shoved him out the door.

When Xander had come back from his shower, he had asked them what their plans were for the night. They told him that they had tracked down the job they were supposed to work and would be working on that while he was gone. Xander had offered to cancel his date in order to help them out, thinking it was the least he could do since they'd invited him along, but both men rejected that idea so vehemently that it gave Xander some pause.

The way they had both jumped up and yelled 'no' at his suggestion was more than a little disconcerting. They tried to play it off as not wanting to interfere with Xander's date, or as Dean put it, "You don't stand in the way of another guy getting some action unless you want the girl for yourself," but Xander couldn't help but worry that their refusal had less to do with his date and more to do with being rid of him for an evening. Despite their protestations that it wasn't a difficult job and that he'd likely be bored, Xander had difficulty keeping the grin on his face as he'd joked back, "Well at least one of us might have some fun tonight."

That had led Dean into another impromptu lesson on _technique_, and somewhere around the discussion about the fine line between nibbling and biting, Xander had blurted that he shouldn't keep Avery waiting and bolted for the door.

Still, several times throughout the movie Xander's mind had wandered to what his brothers were doing and why they'd seemed so desperate to be free of him. He kept telling himself that he was probably just over-thinking things.

Avery gave his hand a squeeze and moved in a little closer so that their arms rubbed together, "Well, I'm glad you were able to come. I had a really good time."

Xander pushed his worries to the back of his mind. "I did too. Although the movie left a lot to be desired."

"Yes, but I think our commentary improved it," Avery kidded. "Despite what Molly may have thought," she chuckled.

"And let's not forget the M&Ms. Nearly everything can be improved with chocolate or mass amounts of sugar," Xander added.

Avery laughed, "You weren't kidding when you said you were a junk-food junkie, were you?"

"Not at all," Xander answered. "In fact, I may have been understating things just a bit."

"Just a bit, huh?" Avery playfully bumped into him, and when he turned to look at her she gave him a sly grin.

Xander's heart raced a bit and he grinned back. For several seconds it seemed all they could do was stare at each other. If they kept it up much longer one of them was likely to trip, and no doubt if Dean were there he would tell Xander to stop being so girly. That thought brought Xander's thinking back around to his brothers and sobered his mood a bit. It was a little annoying that they had managed to get him so out-of-sorts.

Xander turned his gaze back to the sidewalk, "So how'd Spot like his new home?"

"Um…huh?" Avery voiced, apparently not prepared for the change of topic.

"Spot. You remember…short, floppy ears, likes to lick," Xander prodded.

"Right, of course," Avery frowned. "Spot is…um…great." Avery's face changed then, her eyes glinting with amusement, "Razor _really_ seemed to like him. They had a really fun game of chase."

"Really?" Xander's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Spot hadn't really seemed steady enough on his feet for a good chase, but it was good to hear that the dog was settling in happily.

By now the two had almost reached the bed-and-breakfast.

"Hey Xander?" Avery questioned as they came up in front of the two-story house.

"Yeah?" Xander asked, turning to her.

"I'll be done working for the day sometime in the early afternoon. I thought, maybe, if you're still in town and aren't busy with your brothers…do you think you'd want to hang out again. There's probably not much else in town to do," Avery rambled on, "but maybe we can have a late lunch, or get some ice cream, or-"

"I'd love to," Xander cut in, sparing her from having to come up with more activities. She didn't need try so hard to interest him; Xander was usually easily impressed.

"Good," Avery replied quietly with a soft smile. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow? We can meet at the diner, if that's okay."

"Sounds good to me," Xander agreed, and then a thought suddenly occurred to him, "Avery, shouldn't I walk you home or something? With a possible rabid animal on the loose, walking home alone might not be safe."

Xander spied Dean's car parked nearby. "I could ask Dean to give you a ride," Xander suggested.

Avery looked vaguely surprised by the offer, "No, that's okay. I'm sure I'll be fine."

The thought of Avery walking around unguarded made Xander uneasy. This town may not be on a Hellmouth, but that didn't mean it was safe to walk around alone at night. "Are you sure? I doubt it would be any trouble."

"I'm sure," Avery told him confidently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "My place really isn't far from here, and, besides, all those attacks happened near the woods," Avery explained in a convinced tone.

"Well…if you're sure," Xander conceded reluctantly.

Avery smiled a moment, and then took Xander completely by surprise when she rose on the tip of her toes and pressed a soft kiss to Xander's lips. She drew back slowly and whispered, "I'll see you tomorrow, Xander."

She drew away with a smile, gave a shy wave before turning, and then began walking away down the sidewalk. Xander blinked after her with a stunned expression. When her actions finally seemed to register a small grin made it way to Xander's face. After Avery turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Xander made his way into the house.

* * *

Dean was not in a good mood. There were several things that took a high ranking on the 'Pisses-Dean-Off' scale, and several of them had happened today. He hated chick-flick moments. Sometimes people had emotional moments, but that did _not_ mean they had to talk about them which, much to Dean's dismay, is often what Sam wanted to do. This time Sam picked the middle of the woods during a hunt to want a heart-to-heart about where their father was. Luckily for Dean, or maybe not so luckily, a monster chose that moment to come barreling through the trees. And that was another thing on Dean's list. He hated demons, spirits, and basically anything supernatural that tried to make a nuisance of itself, like the creature they ran into earlier. However, those were usually resolved by killing or exorcising said demons or spirits, which is what happened to the monster they'd tumbled with in the woods. Also ranking high on the list was having to clean demon guts off the interior of his car, which was an unfortunate side-effect of killing demons.

And possibly at the top of the 'Pisses-Dean-Off' scale was having to patch up his brother. Not the actual patching, of course. If he had to, Dean would gladly sacrifice his favorite shirt (assuming he had a favorite) to patch Sam up. Dean just hated to see his brother hurt, and it wasn't just because he had to deal with Sam's complaining (which, to be honest, he rarely ever did) but rather because he felt responsible for Sam. He had felt it since the moment he'd carried him out the burning wreckage of their home and probably always would, not that Dean would _ever_ go so far as to admit it out loud.

It pissed him off even more when Sam got hurt because of Dean's stupid plan. Roam around the woods looking for a creature they knew nothing about. Great idea. Split up while being _chased_ by the creature they knew nothing about. Even better. Damnit, that was why he had Sam with him, to talk him out of his stupid ideas.

The gashes the creature had made in Sam's back were fairly deep, and as Dean cleaned off the blood and dirt and rubbed on the antiseptic, Sam couldn't help but hiss through gritted teeth. But you didn't grow up a Winchester without learning to handle a little pain, or a lot of pain for that matter. Sam handled it like the soldier their dad had trained them to be, and Dean was just grateful that Sam wouldn't need stitches.

Still, Dean had only just finished bandaging Sam up, and already a little blood was starting to seep through the white gauze. Anger flared through Dean, and for a moment he almost wished the demon were still alive so he could give it a little more grief.

Sam winced and hissed again as he moved off the bed to stand.

"Ah, suck it up," Dean scolded, though his eyes followed his brother with concern. Despite himself he added, "You should probably take some aspirin or something."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said grumpily, waving off Dean's mothering as he dug a bottle of aspirin out of his bag.

They both jumped when the door banged open, and Xander came racing in, huffing as though he'd run up the entire flight of stairs with a harpy on his tail. Dean was ashamed to admit that he'd almost forgotten about the younger man. He'd gotten so used to it being only him and Sam that every once in a while he couldn't help but think of Xander as an interloper, especially with everything they had to hide from him.

The younger man's sudden arrival had caught Dean off guard, and it was a good thing Dean's sidearm was across the room because that demon attack had left him tense enough that he might have accidentally shot Xander without thinking. And wouldn't that have been the perfect ending to the night. Get one brother nearly shredded to death and then shoot the other.

"Man," Xander started, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Martha really has it bad for you," he told Dean as he moved further into the room. "I didn't think I was going to get away from-" Xander stopped mid-sentence, his nose scrunching up as a displeased expression stole across his face. "What's that smell?"

Dean's eyes shot over to the pile of clothes in the corner, still drenched in demon goo. Right. He _knew_ there was something he was forgetting. "Paint gone bad," Dean lied. "Managed to get it all over my clothes." The creature's blood was green; it could be mistaken for some tasteless shade of paint, right?

Xander eyed the pile of clothes distastefully, "Gone bad? I think that's an understatement. I didn't even know paint did that. I think your best bet is to just burn those."

Xander noticed Sam's back then and his eyes widened almost comically, "Geez! What happened to you?"

"He fell off a ladder," Dean supplied. Sam let Dean field the questions as he popped a couple pills in his mouth and gulped them down with a bottle of water.

Xander turned a disbelieving look on Dean, "Through what? A window?"

"Dude, he's fine, all right? Don't worry so much." Dean was a little annoyed with the concern and worry etching Xander's features; damnit, that was Dean's job, though it may not be implicitly stated.

"I leave you two alone for a few hours, and when I get back, you're a complete mess." Xander's word came out teasingly, a wry expression on his face, but Dean could still read the underlying concern in his voice and eyes.

"Trust me. We managed," Dean told him.

Dean thought Xander's face fell a little at his words, and he wondered if maybe they came out a bit harsher than he meant them but shrugged off his concern at the thought.

Sam had finished his water and was now stretching out face-down on the far bed, smothering his face exhaustedly into his pillow. Considering his injuries, Dean hoped even more tonight than most nights that his brother could sleep nightmare-free.

Dean turned away from Xander and moved to his own bag. "How'd your date go?" he asked, pushing the conversation onto Xander's night rather than their own.

"Good," Xander answered with a little more enthusiasm. "Better than my last date at any rate. Not much could top prom with Anya."

Dean gave Xander a quizzical look. He'd never made it to his own prom, so he wasn't sure what all that sort of date might entail.

Xander shrugged, "Anya is just…well, Anya."

Dean couldn't guess any of the specifics, but he'd met a few women who seemed to redefine their sex; maybe this Anya was just one of those women.

"Anyhow," Xander continued, "the movie sucked, but the rest seemed to go all right."

"Well, come on, man, spill," Dean pried.

Dean noticed how Xander was trying to fight a grin, "Well, she did kiss me."

"Now we're getting to the good stuff," Dean smirked. "And?"

Xander looked confused now, as if he'd missed some part of the conversation, "And…then she went home."

Dean's earlier excitement deflated, "That's it? That's all you got?"

A heavy sigh came from Sam's bed as he dragged his face out of his pillow to grumble, "Dean, not every guy falls into bed with a girl five minutes after meeting her."

Dean ignored Sam, offering Xander some comforting words instead. "It's okay, Xan," he said, the nickname rolling easily off his tongue. "You'll get better with practice, and I'm sure you'll have better luck next time."

Xander still seemed confused more than reassured, but he threw out with a tentative smile, "Well, she did ask me to meet her at work tomorrow."

Dean frowned, realizing this bit of information could complicate matters. Having taken care of the creature, they had no reason to stick around now and would be leaving town tomorrow.

"Actually, when I said better luck next time, I meant next girl, next town," Dean explained carefully. "We're going to head out tomorrow."

Xander's smile faltered and his eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why?"

"We finished our job," Dean gave a half-shrug. "Time to go."

Xander's eyes narrowed. "You mean the job where Sam fell off a ladder and you spilled paint everywhere?"

Dean didn't know what the younger man was trying to imply, but he made it sound like Sam and Dean were the two most incompetent handymen he'd ever seen. Rather than argue the point, Dean ran with it. "Okay, so we got fired. The point is we're leaving."

"What about-" Xander blurted then stopped suddenly. He started again, more hesitantly this time, "I thought you said your dad might meet you here. Have you seen or heard from him?"

Dean had to fight from groaning audibly. First Sam, now Xander. The two might as well be tag-teaming.

"He's not here," Sam answered with certainty, lifting his upper body off the bed with a wince and resting his weight on his forearms as he looked over to Xander. "And we're not likely to see or hear from him."

_Please don't let this digress into a chick-flick moment_, Dean practically begged.

Xander just nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Doesn't mean we can't stick around a little longer," Sam suggested tiredly, shifting his gaze over to Dean. Dean met his brother's gaze, read his expression, and guessed that Sam didn't want to stay in this God-forsaken town any more than Dean did. Sam probably wanted to stay even less since having been sent by their farther made it a further annoyance for Sam, but apparently he was willing to stay longer for Xander's sake.

Dean decided on a compromise. "We can wait till early tomorrow evening. I could do with some extra sleep anyway. But we aren't staying here another night," he warned them firmly.

Xander gave a small accepting smile, then suddenly his smile bloomed into a full-blown grin with a hint of mischief. "You're just scared that Martha will have her wicked way with you if you spend too many nights under her roof, aren't you?"

Dean glowered. "Dude, that's not even funny."

Xander laughed at his expense and even Sam gave a smile as he snuggled back down into his pillow. Dean felt that maybe he needed to practice his menacing look because obviously he was loosing his touch.

"Just for that, you get to sleep on the rollaway," Dean ordered and plopped down on the other unclaimed bed as if he hadn't fully intended to claim it anyway under the pretense of seniority.

Xander just shrugged as he moved over to the small rollaway bed that Martha had so kindly provided for them.

Both men stripped down to boxers and a t-shirt, and Dean hit the light before crawling into bed.

"'Night, Sam. 'Night, Dean," Xander called out in the darkness.

"G'night, Xander," the two older brothers returned in unison.

Xander shuffled on the bed and gave a sleepy chuckle, "I feel like the Waltons."

"Shut up and go to sleep, John-Boy," Dean grumbled as he tried to shape his overstuffed pillow into something more conducive to rest.

The quiet stillness of night crept into the room, and as Dean's body relaxed into the mattress he relented that perhaps tonight hadn't ended so badly after all. They'd killed the creature terrorizing the town of Waiverton, likely saving countless lives in the process, and his brothers, both old and new, were safely tucked into bed, even if one was a little worse for wear. Dean's lips quirked in a small smile as he drifted off to sleep. All in all, things could be a lot worse.

* * *

Jim Hastings had abandoned his perch on his front-porch rocking chair several hours earlier just as the sun's last rays were losing their hold on the western corner of the sky. His mind had been wandering all afternoon down the worn paths of his memories and his feet felt inclined to follow suit.

As the past engulfed him, taking him back to places so well-loved in his youth, he found himself passing his wife's childhood home. He remembered it as it had once been, newly painted with the windows open to let in cool, spring air, and he vividly recalled seeing his Ellie for the first time there in the yard. Her arms were laden with a cardboard box, sun glinting off her golden hair as she turned with a beaming smile spread ear-to-ear, and called out 'hello' to him.

He and Tom had been walking past as the family moved into their new home, and Jim had been unable to tear his eyes from her face while his mouth hung agape, and, had Tom not thumped him on the back, he might have stared wordlessly at her all day. Jim had thought then that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and not a day had gone by after that he hadn't had the exact same thought whenever he'd looked upon her smiling face.

Tom had mercilessly, though good-naturedly, teased him ceaselessly about how one glance from Ellie had rendered him speechless, and two years later when both Jim and Ellie were eighteen, Tom had stood as Jim's best man and discreetly thumped Jim out his love-sick stupor in time to say 'I do,' in much the same way he had that first fateful day.

Jim had had a beautiful and loving wife, a loyal friend, and a better life than most could boast. Looking back on his accumulated years, he could find little if anything to regret, with the one exception of too little time. He could have spent a hundred years, or even two hundred, with his Ellie, and still he would have craved more.

Even now her absence was an ever-present ache. After her death, Tom had been his ever-steady friend, and again, had it not been for Tom, Jim felt sure he would have quickly wasted away without his Ellie by his side.

And now Tom was gone.

Jim felt adrift, as if all the ties that had once held him firm and steady had been cut, and now he floated aimlessly, lost and alone in places that were once familiar yet now seemed more akin to a vast wasteland.

Tom's death had been a staggering blow, and this time Jim didn't have his rock-steady friend to fall back on.

As his mind continued to withdraw, Jim's feet moved as if by habit from town to the woods and then through the trees to the creek that had been the site of Tom and Jim's most happily spent hours.

When Jim realized where his feet had taken, he sat down near the water's edge on the same well-worn rock that Tom had often made his perch, and as the moon made its trek across the sky, Jim fought vainly to ease the grief and solitude that curled into his chest and beat against his ribs.

It was long after midnight before the weary man gave up his heartsick post at the creek's edge. His legs ached from all the walking he had done followed by the lengthy hours he'd spent sitting, and now he struggled to find the strength and will to return to his lonely home.

He stood, his legs wobbling slightly while his hand reached out to a nearby tree for support, and mentally he marked the irony of how old age had made him as unsteady as a newborn foal. His eyes were no longer as sharp as they used to be either, and he had to step carefully along the shadowed path lest he trip over a stray root.

He stepped around a large oak, coming around to a better-worn trail where the moon was able to filter through more easily, and what he saw in the moonlit clearing made him draw up short and choke on a gasp.

A scarce few yards from him was a beastly animal, too large to be mistaken for a dog or bobcat and unlike any bear he'd ever seen. The animal sat on its haunches, leaning over the bloodied remains of what looked, ironically, like a bobcat.

The animal was covered in dirty, dark fur and its shape was similar to that an over-sized tiger. Its tall pointed ears twitched, and Jim watched with sickened fascination as it lowered its mouth too rip some more meat from its prey's bones.

The animal suddenly stilled, making it seem as if the entire forest were holding its breath, and then it slowly turned its head toward Jim. The creature caught Jim's gaze in its predatory stare, looking at him through large, bulbous, yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

It spread its blood-smeared mouth open in a wide, Cheshire-like grin revealing a double row of tall, sharp, glistening fangs that seemed to run from ear to ear while bits of flesh and blood continued to drip from its jowls.

Jim froze, shock and terror seizing his muscles and making it difficult to breathe, much less move. His heart was hammering against his ribcage almost to the point of pain, and he desperately wished he could move, could run, could put this nightmarish visage far, far behind him, but he could only tremble fearfully and stare back at the creature.

The seconds seemed to slow as they stared at one another, predator and prey, and Jim realized with resounding certainty that he was looking into the eyes of his own death.

Then time snapped back to its normal speed, and the creature coiled and leaped. In two bounds and mere seconds, the animal had tackled Jim to the ground. It immediately lunged for Jim's neck, sinking its fangs deep into the soft flesh of his throat and ripping through muscle, blood vessels, and cartilage.

It all happened so quickly that there was no time for Jim's life to flash before his eyes, to realize any deep, profound, and long-sought answers, or even send up a prayer for his soul; he barely even had time to register the sharp pain.

He sucked in a coppery, liquid breath which only resulted in a gurgled cough. The overhanging branches towering far above seemed to blur and blend until he could see only an ever-stretching sea of shadowed leaves. And then he saw nothing at all.


	14. Chapter 14

It was early, but not outrageously so, when Sam slipped free from the iron grasp of his nightmares. Despite the new horrors they'd witnessed last night, his sleep had been haunted by other, older memories of a fire that raged with malevolent intent, consumed everything in its wake, and burned with such intensity that Sam could still feel its flames singeing his skin during those first few waking seconds.

As always his nightmares woke him with a racing heart and a sharp intake of breath, almost causing him to bolt from the bed as he fought to liberate himself from the inferno's scorching embrace.

As the seconds ticked by, Sam slowly calmed. He wasn't in danger; he was safe; the fire wasn't coming for him, at least not yet.

He checked on the room's other occupants. As expected, Xander was still sleeping soundly, features slack and a sizeable pool of drool collecting on his pillow. Further inspection revealed that Dean was also still sleeping, but where Xander's features had been relaxed and untroubled, Dean's were not. Instead, his brow was furrowed in a deep frown, his breathing shallow and uneasy. Everything in his expression and body language spoke of tension and stress, almost as if he could sense Sam's own anxiety, even in sleep. Or maybe years of hunting had built up so much strain that easy, restful sleep was simply a thing of the past for both brothers, though Dean would argue to the contrary. Despite his self-proclaimed immunity, sleeping with a knife under his pillow as a matter of necessity should have been a glaring indication that their 'work' did not leave Dean as untouched as he would like to believe.

Sam shook his head, clearing it of the last vestiges of his nightmare, and slipped out from between the sheets, wincing as his movements pulled at the torn skin of his back. He dressed quietly, taking care not to aggravate his injuries any more than necessary, then left the room and made his way downstairs with the determination to find himself a cup of coffee.

When he reached the bottom landing, he was almost plowed over by Martha, who in complete contrast to every previous time he'd seen her, looked grave and subdued.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Martha regretfully apologized when she realized she'd nearly run him over.

She looked up at him, and Sam caught a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes. Concerned, he asked, "Are you all right, Miss Jennings?"

At the question tears welled up in Martha's eyes, and her face crumpled in sadness. "It's so horrible," she said in a choked whisper. "I talked to him just yesterday, and now…" she trailed off, glancing away.

"After Tom, they said there wasn't anything to worry about; the animal was probably rabid and already dead by now. But now Jim… How could something like this happen?" her eyes met his again, wide and pleading for answers that could provide some understanding.

Sam tensed as his concern heightened, and an unsettling wave of dread rolled down his spine. "Jim? Jim _Hastings_?" Sam asked.

Martha nodded, wiping at a stray tear, and returned in a stricken voice, "He was killed in the woods last night. Mauled. Probably by the same animal that killed Tom. For this to happen twice in under a week… I can barely believe it."

Sam's gut twisted painfully. He had talked to Jim just yesterday as well. The man had been grieving but alive. And now he was dead. How could it have happened? What had they missed? Had they not killed the creature in time?

"When did it happen?" Sam asked tightly.

"Sometime late last night or early this morning is all they've said so far," Martha answered. The woman's tears began anew, shoulder's shaking with repressed sobs. "He was such a nice man; he always had a kind word for everyone."

"I'm sorry about this," Sam said solemnly, meaning it more as a confession for having somehow let it happen rather than the obligatory condolence as Martha likely believed it to be. Sam placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, trying to beat back his own feelings of sorrow and guilt.

Martha brought her own hand up to pat his appreciatively. "You're a very sweet boy," she told him kindly with a sad, grateful smile.

Her words only made the remorse he was feeling press more heavily against his chest. He was filled with a need for action, a need to set things right. Though there was nothing that could be done for Jim Hastings at this stage, Sam was determined not to let whatever mistake they'd made cost anyone else his or her life.

Martha's hand fell away from his, and she wiped at the tear-trails on her cheeks. Sam gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling his own hand away.

He jerked a thumb back toward the stairs and said, "I should probably get back upstairs before-"

Martha's plump hand reached out the grab his arm with surprising quickness, her glassy eyes wide with worry. "You boys be sure to stay far, far away from the woods. I don't care what those rangers say; it isn't safe." There was a sincerity in her eyes and manner that was borne from more than a little crush on Dean; she was truly worried about their safety.

"We will," Sam return, steeling himself to keep from flinching at the outright lie that came from his lips.

She gave him a relieved smile before her gaze moved almost absently to the front desk, focusing on the phone which sat next to the guestbook. "I should probably call Debbie and let her know before that Molly tells her. I tell you, that gossip-hound has no sense of tact."

That last bit of information was lost on Sam, but he watched with something akin to relief as Martha wandered away, muttering to herself about what a nice young girl that Molly had been and what a vile woman she had grown up to be.

Sam went back up the stairs, just shy of sprinting, barged back into the room, and was shaking Dean awake before he'd even had a chance to completely process everything Martha had told him.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yelled, then bit his lip and glanced at the other occupied bed. Xander, oblivious as ever, slept on peacefully.

Dean batted away Sam's hand and rolled so that his back was facing Sam. "Damnit, I thought we had agreed to sleep in," Dean complained, voice low and rough with sleep.

Sam brought the situation quickly to light. "Jim Hastings was killed in the woods last night."

Dean's mood shifted instantaneously. He rolled over again and sat up, turning a clear and focused gaze on Sam. In just seconds he'd gone from sleepy-eyed to alert and hunt-ready. "When?" he questioned.

Sam moved back away from the bed, casting another glance at Xander before sharing what he'd been told with Dean, "Late last night or early this morning. Either way, it was well after we killed that thing in the woods."

"Damnit," Dean growled. He moved off the bed and began dressing, anger making his movements quick and jerky. "What did we miss?"

Sam understood perfectly what Dean was feeling right then, because he was feeling it too. The sense that they had seriously fucked up somehow, and now someone was dead because of it. "I thought we'd go back to where we left the demon, start there, and then check out the scene where Hastings was found."

Dean gave his assent with a sharp nod. He glanced over at Xander, still sprawled out in the same position since he first fell asleep, and a slightly envious look crept into his eyes. "How the _hell_ does he manage to sleep through all this?" he wondered aloud, as if the noise should have woken him, or surely the tense shift in atmosphere should have stirred something in his subconscious, a warning that all was _not_ well.

They made it down the stairs and managed to slip past the front desk without drawing the attention of Martha, who was still talking on the phone, her back turned to them. After that they made the drive to the woods, the music-free silence of the ride thick with anger and self-blame, and then they hiked, in what had to be record time, to the spot where they'd left the demon.

The body was gone but not without a trace.

Dean tilted his head, looking at the soft ground where the creature had lain. "It looks like it was dragged away."

Sam knelt down close to the ground, shuffling dead leaves out of the way, to get a look at something underneath. "The question is by what?"

In addition to heavy drag-marks leading away from the area, there were several tracks made by something that definitely wasn't human and wasn't any type of animal found in the boy scout handbook to tracking.

Dean knelt next to his brother and frowned at the paw marks. "You think there was more than one of those things?"

Sam studied the tracks for moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "Whatever it was, I don't think it was the same as the creature we killed last night."

"Maybe they were buddies," Dean suggested.

"Or possibly rivals," Sam countered.

Dean gave a shrug, "Either way, if Green-and-Scaly didn't kill Hastings last night, chances are whatever carried him off did."

Sam stood, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "I guess we should check where Hastings was found, see if there are any tracks there that match these here."

Barely twenty minutes later it was confirmed that Sam and Dean's demon-body snatcher and Hastings' killer were one and the same.

* * *

Xander stumbled out of bed in the early afternoon to the grumbling of a hungry stomach. Through bleary eyes he could see that the other two beds were empty, and for a brief moment Xander panicked that he'd been left behind. A quick scan of the room revealed that Sam's and Dean's bags were still where they'd left them last night, and surely they wouldn't have left without their things.

Xander shook his head wryly, torn between being amused with himself and slightly annoyed. He'd known Sam and Dean for only a few days now, and he was acting like some desperate orphan with a fear of abandonment. He seriously needed to get a grip.

Xander wasn't sure where Sam and Dean had gone or when they'd be back, but he decided since he'd been left to his own devices, getting something to eat was the top order of the day.

In fact, he could eat at the diner and then tell Avery that they were leaving today, effectively killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. After all, those chicken tenders really had been good.

Xander guessed he should have been disappointed they were leaving town so soon and just when he was starting to get to know Avery, but the more he thought on it, the happier he was with the situation. As much time as they'd spent together the last few days, Xander still didn't feel as if he knew much about his newfound brothers. Maybe now that this job was done (or abandoned as the case may be), they could all relax a bit, get to know each other better, and take in some sights of the eastern United States.

With that thought in mind, Xander moved to retrieve some clothes, stretching the kinks out of his back and neck as he went. He pulled on some jeans and the Hawaiian shirt that had been snubbed yesterday and grabbed his wallet before leaving the room.

Martha was no where to be seen downstairs, and Xander fought down a smirk at the thought that perhaps she had spirited Dean away somewhere private for some _quality_ time.

He walked happily to Ned's Diner, enjoying the warm summer air, with a new understanding of what people meant by 'having a spring in their step'. His happy gait slowed, however, as he drew near the eatery and saw a familiar, feminine form standing forlornly in front of the diner.

Avery's shoulders were hunched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and her gaze was glued to the sidewalk. Everything about her posture screamed that something was wrong.

As Xander approached her, he called out, "Avery? Are you okay?"

She tore her gaze away from the sidewalk, bringing red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes up to meet his gaze. It took a moment for recognition to sink in, and then suddenly she was throwing herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Whoa," Xander said, staggering back at the sudden, added weight. He brought his arms up lightly around her, still startled by the impromptu hug. "What's going on?"

Avery had her face pressed against Xander's chest, causing her voice to come out muffled, "Something's happened." She sniffled, and Xander suspected she was probably crying. Women and tears were always a man's worst nightmare.

"Were you fired?" Xander asked fearfully. He thought maybe that was why she was out here on the sidewalk rather than inside waiting tables; she wasn't even wearing her waitress uniform.

"No," she told him tearfully. "The diner is closed for the day."

For the first time Xander noticed the 'closed' sign on the door and that the diner's interior was dark and empty.

Avery loosened her hold on him slightly and pulled back just enough to look up at him. "There was another animal attack last night. Jim Hastings is dead, and-" Avery's voice cracked, fresh tears welling over in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. "Something got Razor last night too," she choked out.

She dropped her head back on Xander's chest, sobbing into his Hawaiian-print shirt. Xander rubbed a hand over her back consolingly and pondered this new turn of events. What was up with the wildlife in this town?

"But _you're_ okay, right?" Xander asked, leaning his head back and trying to catch a glimpse of her face.

At length, Avery gave a slow nod and pulled away from his chest, wiping at her eyes and running a hand through her messy hair. Her cheeks were red and puffy, still stained with tears, but she seemed to be gathering a little control.

"It's just so hard to believe that he's gone," Avery said quietly.

Xander hugged her tightly for a moment, the loosened up before saying, "It must be really hard on you, especially since the same thing happened to his friend just a few days ago."

Avery jerked back sharply, looking at him with unconcealed confusion in her eyes. "What?"

Xander couldn't blame her confusion; death had a way of throwing everything off balance. "Jim's friend," he explained. "He died the same way. It must be difficult, losing both of them in such a short time."

Understanding slowly dawned in her eyes. "Right…Jim," Avery said distantly. She leaned into Xander again, gently this time and with less clinging desperation. "Razor too," she reminded softly. "I know he's – _was_ – just a…pet, but it still hurts."

Xander pulled back, putting a little distance between them, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Hey," he spoke softly and soothingly. When her eyes met his, he continued, "There's nothing wrong with being sad that Razor's gone. I'm sure he meant a lot to you."

Avery gave Xander a sad, watery smile, "Yeah, he did." She dropped her gaze again, absently fingering one of the buttons on his shirt.

"Is there anything I can do?" Xander asked, wishing he could find a way to make her laugh like he had yesterday.

Avery glanced up with wide, hopeful eyes. "Could you come home with me? Stay with me for a while? The house is just so quiet without Razor there."

Xander almost gave in to her pleading gaze without thinking, but then he remember why he was here, that he was supposed to be saying goodbye. He winced guiltily that he had offered his help and was now about to let her down when it seemed she could really use a friend. "I'm sorry," Xander replied regretfully. "I'm actually going to be leaving town soon. My brothers finished their job and they're kind of eager to leave."

Something flickered briefly in Avery's face at that but was gone before Xander had a chance to place what it was he'd seen in her expression.

"That's okay," Avery returned, mustering up a forgiving smile. "You've already made me feel a little better just by being here now. I'm sure everything will work itself out in the end and that whoever did this will be stopped soon."

Xander frowned, stumbling a little over her wording. "You mean _what_ever," he corrected.

"Of course," Avery returned after a beat.

Xander nodded and smiled. "And hopefully the rangers or police or whoever will find what did this before someone else-" Xander broke off suddenly as something occurred to him, and he asked Avery urgently, "What about Spot? He's okay, too, right?"

Avery drew back, an eyebrow raised and lips quirking at the corner as though fighting a smile. "Spot's fine."

There was an enigmatic quality to her voice that Xander couldn't quite place. Maybe she was amused at the overwhelming concern he was showing for Spot. But he couldn't help it; he'd really gotten attached to the little runt.

Avery untangled herself from Xander's arms, moving back a step. "I should let you get back. I don't want to keep you."

Xander studied her face; she was still a little pale, but she seemed calmer now, or at the very least, didn't seem likely to burst into tears again. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" Xander asked anyway.

"I'll be fine," Avery told him confidently, giving him a smile, shy, sweet, and sad all at once.

Xander smiled back. "I'm glad I met you," Xander confided.

Avery's eyes softened. "I'm glad I met you too." She stepped toward him, gently bringing a hand up to cup his jaw before she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. Unlike last night's kiss, this one was longer and less chaste. When they broke apart, they were both flushed and breathing heavily.

Xander looked at her hazily and tried think up an intelligent response through the hormone-ridden fog that had engulfed his brain. "Um, well…goodbye." Not quite the intelligent response he'd been hoping for.

Avery grinned wryly anyway and smoothed her fingers through his thick, black hair. "Goodbye, Xander," she whispered softly, then stepped away from him again.

A few seconds later Xander's motor functions returned, and this time it was Avery whose eyes followed Xander as he turned, began walking, and slowly faded into the distance.

* * *

Sam tried to focus on the small map of Waiverton, laid out in front of him on his lap but, with Dean currently pacing a hole in the floor, maintaining his focus was becoming increasingly difficult. He sighed and tried to ignore the insistent thump of boots tracing a pattern from one side of the room to the other and then to the window, where the pacing would pause for a few brief, blissful moments, before resuming the pattern anew. If Dean kept up, Sam might be forced to shoot him.

"So I'm thinking," Sam began, playing in to the half-hearted hope that he might be able to distract Dean and save the hardwood floor what little varnish it had left. "We start at the northern edge of the woods and work our way south. The first attacks on the animals at the farms were all around the northern edge of the woods, and then they gradually began moving south. We may not find anything around the northern part of the woods, but since that's where the attacks originated, I think it would be the best place to start. And I know all the attacks occur at night, but if we start searching before dark, we might having better luck of being able to spot anything out of the ordinary – maybe some kind of markings or a talisman that summoned the creatures or caused them to manifest."

"Uh huh," Dean replied absently. He was at the window again, face nearly pressed against the glass and head angled so that he could see as far down the street as possible.

Sam heaved another sigh, folded up the map, and tossed it on the bed next to him. "I'm sure he's fine," he assured Dean.

Dean turned around, putting his back to the window and facing Sam, and for a moment his expression was that of a five-year-old who'd just been caught sneaking a finger into the icing of a freshly-baked cake. The expression quickly fell away, however, and Dean crossed his arms, cocked an eyebrow, and said, "What?" as if he didn't have the slightest clue as to what Sam was referring.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave his head a slight shake; he knew Dean well enough to spot his avoidance maneuvers from a mile off. Dean might never admit it, but Sam knew his brother didn't like not knowing where Xander was at, especially when there was at least one monster still at large.

"Xander's fine," Sam re-stated. "He'll probably be back any minute."

"He _should_ be here _now_," Dean argued, the indignation in his voice making it seem as though it were less a matter of worrying about Xander's safety and more like Xander had sneaked out without permission. "He didn't even leave a note or anything."

"Right," Sam drawled sarcastically. "Because we took it upon ourselves to leave _him_ a note when we up and disappeared this morning."

"That's different," Dean countered immediately. "We're older."

If Sam had a penny for every time Dean had used that same, lame excuse on him, he wouldn't have to hustle for spare cash. He had a feeling Xander would appreciate it about as much as he did, which was to say not at all.

Sam dropped the subject of Xander's current whereabouts and moved on to the subject of where Xander would be while they were out hunting. "We're going to have to think of something to tell Xander."

"We'll tell him whatever we have to," Dean stated matter-of-factly as if it were a simple matter.

Sam tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "We've got to start coming up with some better excuses," he said.

"We knew this was going to cause some problems," Dean told him, accusation lacing his words, and he resumed his pacing.

Sam glared at his brother, tracking his movements with his eyes and thinking bitterly that Dean had wanted Xander to come along just as much as he had.

"Well, this would have been a lot simpler if we'd gotten the job done right the first time," Sam said, the words coming out less accusing than Dean's had, guilt tainting his voice. _Not to mention it might have kept Jim Hastings alive_, Sam added silently.

Dean stopped his pacing and looked over at him, the same guilt Sam felt reflecting in Dean's eyes. At least they were agreed on that. Dean opened his mouth as if about to say something but the door's opening halted the words before they had a chance to make it out.

"Hey," Xander greeted as he breezed into the room.

Sam knew they were going to have to handle this situation carefully. They had to get Xander out of the way without making it making it _seem_ like they were trying to get rid of him. He knew Xander would probably want to come with them, as he had the night before, but Sam thought if he and Dean just kept their cool, they could probably come up with a reasonable excuse that would-

"Dude, it's about damn time," Dean blurted out the second the door closed behind Xander, and if he was trying to come off casual, he failed miserably.

_So much for keeping our cool_, Sam thought.

Xander stopped short at Dean's tone, his eyes widening in confusion. "Sorry," he said uncertainly, as if not really sure what exactly he was apologizing for. "I thought you said we wouldn't be leaving until the afternoon. I didn't mean to hold us up."

Dean looked about ready to go off on a tirade, so Sam stepped in before he could speak again. "Actually, it looks like we're going to be staying another night," Sam said, then thinking fast, added, "We're going to finish that job we started yesterday."

Xander briefly looked surprised but then became more interested. "Well, hey, I can come along and help out."

Sam bit his lip. That's what he'd thought Xander would say.

Before Sam could come up with a reasonable response, Dean beat him to the punch. "No, you should stay here. Really, it's boring stuff, man."

Xander cut a glance at Dean, irritation flaring in his eyes, and Sam knew that excuse wasn't going to hold this time. He tapped down a grimace and wished that Dean would stop _helping_.

"So you keep saying," Xander returned, "but, honestly, I'm pretty easily amused. It beats sitting around here. Besides, if you leave me here alone with Martha, she might decide to use me as a substitute for you."

The quip went ignored by Dean, who told Xander coolly, as if leveling with the younger man, "Look, we've got this covered. Sam and I know what we're doing; you'd probably just be in the way."

Sam wondered if he could discretely smack Dean upside the head before the older man managed to dig their hole a little deeper; the tactic seemed to work well for Missouri.

Xander's expression of irritation changed to full-blown annoyance. "I think I could at least manage not to dump the paint bucket on myself," he countered, pointing out what he thought was Dean's own lack of finesse with the job.

Dean's expression hardened, and Sam knew that look. It was the one Dean always wore when he'd reached his limit and was just fed-up with walking on eggshells – although Dean's impression of 'walking on eggshells' came off more like '_stomping_ on eggshells'. Sam knew he should step in before Dean said something they'd all regret, but it was like a train wreck, inevitable and too gruesome to look away from.

"Look, it's a _family_ thing, so why don't you just back off," Dean bit out, and it was like everyone in the room suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and held it in with fearful anticipation.

Xander looked like he'd been sucker-punched, and even Sam flinched at the harsh words.

Hunting really was a family thing for Sam and Dean, a legacy – more like a curse really – passed down to them by their dad. Truthfully Xander wasn't a part of it, hadn't been baptized in same fire they had, but when spoken aloud, the implication that Xander was excluded, that blood didn't make for automatic acceptance, was glaringly painful. For all involved.

Of the three of them, Dean reacted the least. He stood stone-faced and seemingly unrepentant, but Sam knew his brother better than that, knew that Dean cared more than he showed and was probably in turmoil underneath. Dean was always damn good at hiding things, shoving emotions down so far that not a trace was left on the surface, and he was usually damn good at deflecting every attempt Sam made to get him to talk about whatever he was feeling or repressing. Luckily for Sam, he was pretty adept at reading his brother no matter how stubborn Dean might get.

As if taking a page out Dean's book, Xander suddenly seemed to brush the comment off, giving them a wry, bitter smile. "I guess I'll have to fend Martha off by myself," he joked. Sam was vaguely impressed and a little jealous that Xander seemed to have inherited the same talent for deflection that Dean had, and Sam wondered why he seemed to be the only one in the family who wore his feelings on his sleeve and, as Dean so often told him, _acted like a broody little bitch_.

"Stay in the room," Dean ordered, and Sam knew he'd really pushed his luck too far with that one.

Xander's casual manner fell away again, and he snapped, "You know, if I had wanted to spend my summer with a bossy jack-ass, I'd have stayed home with my step dad."

Dean pursed his lips, confliction battling in his eyes, but he didn't rescind the comment.

Sam cleared his throat, breaking the tension that was threatening to envelope the room, and tried vainly to smooth over everyone's high-strung emotion. "We don't mean to boss you around," Sam tried to reason. He gave Xander what he hoped was a look of sincerity, complete with pleading eyes that could usually convince anyone to go along with what he was saying; Dean on the other hand only managed to glower . "It's just we've heard about a lot of animal attacks in town, and we'd feel better if we knew where you were."

Sam was barely able to hear Xander's darkly muttered, "You'd know exactly where I was if I went with you."

The younger man didn't offer up any further protest; instead, he turned his back on them and moved for the door.

"Xander!" Dean called reproachfully.

Xander glared back at him over his shoulder. "Don't get your feathers all ruffled, Momma Hen. I'm just going downstairs, or does my leash not extend that far?"

"That's fine; we'll see you later, okay?" Sam agreed before Dean could say anything else to make the situation worse than it already was; he wondered if this was how Dean felt all those year playing referee between Sam and their dad.

Xander's glare lessened when looked over to Sam, and he gave a sharp nod before leaving the room.

Sam expelled his leftover tension in one long breath and then turned to look at Dean, unable to keep some of his disappointment from showing on his face. "Don't you think you were a little harsh?"

"We'll work things out when we get back," Dean said, and Sam thought the words were probably more for Dean than himself.

"We can't keep jerking him around like this; we're going to end up driving him away. Assuming he doesn't want to bail on us already," Sam warned.

Dean flinched slightly, and Sam knew his words had hit a nerve. For all Dean's bravado, he had a serious weakness when it came to getting separated from his family. And whether Dean liked it or not, Xander was already dangerously close to getting behind Dean's defenses and into that sacred space Dean held for family.

"Are you saying we should tell him the truth?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, as if to say _what could it hurt_, and then answered aloud, "Lying to him isn't working out."

"And so we're right back at square one," Dean pointed out in a rush of frustration. His voice became more heated as he continued, laying out his case, "We can keep lying to him, or we can come clean. But you should know, even if we do tell him the truth, not everyone can handle this kind of lifestyle. Demon hunters aren't usually what most people find when they go looking for their long lost family. Assuming he even believes us, he might just run out on us for something a bit more normal. After all, you did."

That was like a knife to Sam's gut, his eyes widening in surprise. Sam and Dean had never really talked, before nor after Sam left, about his need to get away, to get a normal life. As Dean would never come right out and say how he felt about anything, Sam could only wonder if Dean was okay with it or if he was harboring some pent-up hostility over those years Sam had claimed a life of his own. Obviously it was the latter.

"That's not fair," Sam protested hotly. "You can't blame me for wanting to have my own life, to have something more than corpse-burning and demon-killing and getting stitched up. I didn't want to keep fighting, but I didn't intend to run out on my family either. Dad's the one who told me not to come back."

"Right. And out of all those times you told Dad exactly where he could shove his orders, _that_ was the one you actually followed." Dean looked angry and betrayed, as if Sam's actions had been a personal affront to Dean.

Sam made move toward his brother, "Dean, I-"

"Forget it, Sam." Dean's expression closed off as if suddenly realizing he'd already let too much slip. He turned his back on Sam and grabbed the car keys off the night table. "We've got a job to do, and we're burning daylight, remember?

Sam swallowed down his reply, knowing Dean had a point. "We can finish talking about this later," his suggestion was more like a plea.

"Yeah," Dean returned, though the expression on his face when he turned to look at Sam said _yeah right_.

Sam knew he'd never get Dean to willingly continue that conversation, and in all likelihood, he wouldn't even be able to force the conversation on Dean. The words 'lost cause' were already echoing in his mind as he followed Dean out the door and down the stairs.

The moment they set foot on the landing, a bubbly voice was calling out their names. Sam followed the sound of the voice with his eyes and saw Martha stand from her chair at a small, round table, across which Xander was also seated. When he looked at Xander, the younger man quickly glanced away, picked up a magazine, and did an admirable job feigning interest in the magazine's home decorating subject. Martha, on the other hand, came waddling over like a duck in a race.

"You boys aren't going out, are you?" she queried, her voice awash with a nervous fretfulness.

Dean's lips quirked in one of his most charming smiles, usually reserved for the most buxom, long-legged blondes he met, and anyone else would never guess that only moments before Dean had been bursting with anger, hostility, and resentment. Only Sam was the wiser, and he had to marvel at Dean's ability to push his emotions aside, put on a smile that looked more genuine than fake, and concentrate on the job.

"Just for a little while," Dean assured Martha. "You know I'd never leave if it were up to me, but you know how it is. We've gotta work in order to get paid." He flashed her another grin, even went so far as to give her wink, and Martha flushed pink like a schoolgirl.

"Well, just be extremely careful. It's not safe out you know. I'd hate to see anything happen to you, Dean." It took a moment for Martha to notice her own faux pas before she turned to Sam and added, "And of course you too, Sam."

Sam bit back an amused grin and told her, "Don't worry, Martha. We'll be fine."

"And we'll be back before you know it," Dean added.

Martha's chin tilted down, and she looked up at Dean coyly from under lowered lashes, replying in a soft, velvety voice filled with innuendo that would have had Sam cringing had the words been meant for him, "I'll be looking forward to it."

Dean's grin lessened, and Sam wasn't sure if it was because of Martha's come-hither stare (which was really Dean's own fault) or if it was because he'd looked toward Xander only to find their younger brother blatantly ignoring them both. Dean's gaze lingered on the younger man for only a few seconds, and then his eyes shifted back to Martha, and he was smiling again and nodding.

Dean turned, opened the door, and stepped out to leave. As Sam moved to follow, he glanced over at Xander one last time, and this time Xander was looking at him. Sam raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgment, and he was rewarded with a slight smile from Xander, even though it seemed forced and lacking in humor and didn't reach his eyes.

Sam went out the door, meeting Dean on the porch. The older man's temporary good humor had faded, his expression now closed-off and serious again.

"You know, if you keep flirting with Martha, this creature might end up being the least of your worries," Sam said, half-serious, half-kidding, warning Dean and trying to inject some humor into the dark mood that had blanketed the night.

Dean gave Sam a knowing look and replied, "I'm thinking at this point, getting eaten by this thing in the woods might be the lesser of two evils."

Sam gave a breathy huff in a half-laugh, and the two brothers got into the Impala and drove off toward the woods.

* * *

"Are you sure everything's all right?" Martha asked yet again.

Instead of answering with '_things are great_' or _'just fine'_ as he had every time previously, Xander only managed a half-hearted shrug in response this time. Mostly he felt a good sulk would be in order. After Sam and Dean had left, Martha had brought out a plate of cookies and some milk for the two of them to share. That the cookies on Xander's napkin remained uneaten was a sure indication of just how _not _fine things were.

"Maybe if you talked about it, things would seem better," Martha suggested kindly.

Xander shrugged again, adding a forlorn sigh this time.

"It's Dean, isn't it," Martha stated knowingly.

Xander looked up at her in surprise, shocked that she had guessed so accurately.

Martha took his surprise as confirmation and nodded sympathetically. "I know it can't be easy. Dean being such a free-spirit and all. He's like a regular James Dean."

Xander expression darkened, and he bit out scathingly, "A regular jerk more like." He picked absently at his cookies, breaking them into a pile of crumbs but not eating them, too disheartened for the chocolate sweetness to be at all appealing.

"It won't always be like that," Martha comforted him. She placed a warm, consoling hand over his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I know it must seem like he gets all the girls, but you're just as charming as he is – in your own way."

Xander's expression crinkled in confusion as he tried to figure out just what the hell Martha was talking about.

"And one day," Martha continued, "I promise, some girl is going to take notice of you."

Xander's earlier surprise over Martha's seemingly intuitive knowledge disappeared as he realized that she thought Xander was jealous of Dean, or that perhaps they'd gotten into a fight over the same girl. For all Xander knew, Martha might even think they were fighting over her.

Martha gave him an optimistic smile and patted his hand. "You'll see. And if you're anything like Dean when you get older, I'm sure you'll have girls lined up around the block," she predicted cheerfully.

Xander slumped in his seat, not feeling cheered in the least. If anything, he felt a little worse. Though Martha was completely sincere in her attempt at comfort, Willow Rosenberg she was not. But the thought of talking to Willow had Xander perking up in his seat. Xander was overdue a check-in anyway.

"You know, you're right," Xander said, practically jumping out of his seat. "I do feel better now that we've talked about this."

"Good," Martha gave him a wide grin. "I'm glad I could help."

Xander nodded. "I think I'll just head upstairs now, maybe read a book or something."

"That sounds like a darling idea. You let me know if you need anything else. And be sure to tell Dean when he gets back that he can come downstairs and have some cookies."

Xander only just managed to keep his face blank at that statement, caught between glaring at the thought of Dean and laughing out loud that Martha's invitation was to Dean alone and not to both Sam and Dean.

He gave Martha a jerky nod before half-skipping toward the stairs, heading up them two at a time, and running back into the room he shared with his brothers. He quickly moved to the phone on the nightstand, picked up the cordless receiver, and dialed through the various numbers on the back of his calling card before finally punching in the familiar digits of the phone number he knew by heart.

Two-and-a-half rings later, Xander heard his best friend's voice over the line, "Hello?"

"Hey, Will," Xander replied, having to push the words out through a grin even while sorrow tainted his tone.

"Xander, what's wrong?" the pitch of her voice raised with alarm, and Xander could picture her clutching the phone in a tight-fingered grip while her eyes widened dramatically. Trust Willow to get a perfect read on him from two simple words.

"I'm fine," Xander said immediately, knowing she was probably thinking the worst, that he was in some kind of trouble. After all, if there were trouble to be found, Xander would be the one to find it. "I just…I sort of had a fight with Dean."

"About what?" Willow asked, concern lacing her words.

"I'm not really sure," Xander said wearily, letting all the turmoil he was feeling seep into his words. He sat down, sagging onto the bed. "I think maybe Dean doesn't want me here."

"Start at the beginning," Willow said firmly, and Xander knew from the tone of her voice exactly what face she was wearing, knew she was determined to help him resolve this.

"Well, we were supposed to leave town today, but Sam and Dean got a call to finish the job they were working the other night, so we're staying longer," Xander started. "I offered to go with them and help out, and that's when the argument happened."

"How do you mean?" Willow prompted.

"He kept saying I'd be bored or in the way, but I kept arguing that I really didn't mind, and I figured there had to be _something_ I could do to help out." Xander sighed miserably. "Then finally he said it was a _family only _type gig."

Willow sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm sure he didn't really mean it," Willow said gently.

"I don't know, he sounded pretty serious about it to me," Xander contradicted.

"What kind of job is it?" Willow asked.

Xander tried to remember if Sam or Dean had ever said specifically what it was they'd been hired to do, but could only recall vague mentions. "I'm not sure, exactly. Something involving paint and ladders. They're kind of like traveling repairmen, I think," Xander explained.

"Really?" Willow said, sounding surprised. "I never would have imagined repair being the travel type of job."

"Me neither, but I guess it is. Their dad calls them about jobs, and they go wherever they find work.. The people even supply the tools and everything." Xander sighed in resignation. "Maybe I really would have been in the way. I don't know, maybe I'm just in the way, period."

"Well, he did invite you along, didn't he? That's gotta count for something. And what about Sam? How did he feel about your going with them on the job?"

"Sam wasn't as pushy about it as Dean, but I got the impression he wasn't keen on having me around either. I just don't get it," Xander exclaimed. "Half the time, it's like everything is fine, and the other half, it's like they wish I wasn't here. I think maybe they just want to be rid of me."

"I don't know. I suppose that could be the case, but something about this just seems …" Willow went quiet suddenly, and Xander frowned at her silence.

"Seems what?" he pressed.

"Strange," Willow stated strongly. "Some of the details about their job just don't seem to fit right. And didn't you say they were working at night? Repair just seems more like a daytime job to me."

"Um…yeah, I guess," Xander said wonderingly. It's not that he hadn't noticed that things with Sam and Dean seemed a little odd, but Xander had brushed it off thinking he was just being overly suspicious as a result of too much time spent on the Hellmouth.

"I'm just wondering if the reason they don't want you around while they're working has less to do with you and more to do with what they're doing," Willow said.

"What do you mean?" Xander asked, an anxious dread settling in his stomach.

"Like…maybe what they're doing isn't exactly on the level." Willow's words came out hesitantly.

"You mean illegal?" Xander asked, somewhat panicked. "You think maybe they're burglars or something?"

"No," Willow denied quickly, then added a few seconds later, "well…maybe?" Her voice was questioning and reluctant, as if she were loath to play devil's advocate in this scenario.

Xander didn't want to admit it, but she had a good point. He couldn't decide if the thought made him feel better or worse. On the one hand, the reason his brothers wanted him out of the way might not be because they didn't like him, but on the other hand, the reason might be because his newfound brothers were criminals.

"That would just figure," Xander started, aggravated. "I find some long lost family, and it turns out they're-" Xander broke off suddenly as he heard what sounded like a soft, scuffling noise, and he pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, turning his head toward the sound.

He strained his ears, trying to hear the sound again, but after a few seconds the only sound he heard came from the phone as Willow shouted, "Xander, are you there?"

Xander put the phone back to his ear and replied, "Yeah. Sorry. I think Martha might have mice."

"Huh?" Willow voiced, confused.

Xander waved off her confusion, oblivious to the fact that she couldn't see the gesture, and returned to the conversation. "I think maybe I'll ask Sam more about what they do. He's usually easier to talk to than Dean. Maybe there's just something I'm missing, and I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I need to."

"Yeah," Willow agreed with some enthusiasm. "We shouldn't jump to conclusions." Willow always did like to give people the benefit of the doubt. "It could be that there's nothing weird going on at all; it's just we're so used to Sunnydale, we're automatically expecting the worst."

"But speaking of weird," Xander said, changing the subject, "there have been a couple animal attacks lately. Two guys were found mauled to death. One of them died just last night. And there have been attacks on other animals too."

"By weird, are you thinking Sunnydale weird?" Willow asked, concern edging into her voice again.

"I don't know. They're saying a rabid bobcat might have done it, but everyone is pretty freaked out over it. Although I guess a wild animal attack is just as scary as a-" Xander heard the same scuffling noise again and stopped mid-sentence. "What is that?" he muttered to himself, lowering the phone from his ear. He scanned the floor and did a cursory glance of the room but couldn't spot anything that might be making that noise.

Just as Xander was about to raise the phone back up to his ear, something blunt and heavy collided with the back of his head. He felt a brief flash of pain before everything went dark, and this time when Willow shouted his name into the phone, Xander wasn't conscious to answer.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: First, let me say I'm SO sorry it took this long to get this part out. I got a huge case of writer's block during the first half of this chapter, and Sam and Dean just did not want to be written. It's a rather long chapter, however, so hopefully that will make up for its lateness a little. Also, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for so I sincerely hope it meets your expectations. I know I was thrilled to finally write it – and yes, that's me dancing on the table and singing karaoke at the top of my lungs in celebration.

Second, the first half of this was beta-ed a while ago (thank you, happylilminion!), but I only finished the second half yesterday, so she hasn't had a chance to read it yet. Not her fault – I was just so psyched by finally having written the big scene that I couldn't wait. Jinni did give it read-through for me to make sure it made sense though (thank you, Jinni!). And now here it is for you to read.

Third, and then I swear I'll shut up and let you get reading. Thanks so much for all of your reviews! Your feedback helped me to keep writing when I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it through my block. Thank you a thousand times, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. And now, without further ado…

* * *

Dean and Sam moved through the forest taking in its details with honed eyes. Time had passed, and the sun was bleeding shades of pink and orange into the sky as night drew closer. Shadows grew and stretched across the ground and trees, casting the woods into eerie half-light.

As the sky darkened above them, they pressed on through the trees, moving further south, still hoping for some sign or explanation. But they had found no signs, markings, nor talismans, and the only tracks they'd seen had belonged to animals – not demons.

Sam followed a few steps behind his brother, who, in contrast to last night, was being remarkably quiet. After the earlier argument Sam would have preferred Dean's incessant rambling to the pervading silence he was now being treated to under pretense of hunting. He had tried a couple of times to pull Dean into conversation, but after a few failed attempts, Sam finally resigned himself to the unnerving silence.

This wasn't the first time Sam and Dean had fought while on a hunt, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Arguing and hunting was simply a way of life between the two, which led Sam to believe the current unease he felt had more to do with the hunt rather than the tension between Dean and himself. Just a short while ago, a feeling of _not-right_ had settled over Sam, and it had been dogging his steps ever since.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, scanning the trees at his back and looking for…he wasn't sure what, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned his gaze forward again. He had this nagging sense, familiar almost, like he'd forgotten to lock the door on the Impala or he'd picked up the wrong ingredients for a spell or-

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called out. Dean made no reply, but Sam continued regardless, "Do you ever get that feeling that you've missed your turn and now you're suddenly driving the wrong way in oncoming traffic?"

Dean's steps stuttered, and he gave Sam a startled look over his shoulder. "Dude, what the hell have you been doing in my car?"

Confusion stole across Sam's features as he ineloquently replied, "Huh?"

"If you can't manage to read a big red sign that says '_Wrong Way_', then I'm revoking your driving privileges." The expression on Dean's face suggested that Sam had committed some form of sacrilege in his book.

Sam finally realized that Dean had taken his statement a little too literally, and he glared at the back of Dean's head. "Dude, you're missing the point. I'm just talking about that feeling you get when you did something wrong or forgot to do something."

"If you've damaged my car somehow…" Dean trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.

Dean was obviously still missing the point, and Sam guessed he should have known better than to use Dean's beloved car in any kind of example. He sighed in exasperation, "Dean, would you forget the car for a minute? I'm being serious here."

"_Seriously_?" Dean said, mockingly throwing the word back at Sam as he stopped and turned to glare at him. "I think you should be paying a little more attention to what we're doing _now_." Dean gave him one last, stern look before turning around and continuing his march through the woods.

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the gesture would go unseen by Dean, and slowly trudged after his brother. His steps felt heavy, each one causing his sense of wrongness to increase. After a few more minutes of walking, that insistent nagging feeling became almost unbearable. What had started out like someone blowing on the back of his neck, little more than an annoyance, was now more akin to fingers thumping on the back of his head. If he weren't able see his brother in front of him to rule out the possibility, he would have suspected Dean of doing exactly that.

Then, like a flash of lightening had illuminated the landscape, Sam had a brief moment of clarity, a sudden sense of certainty that he and Dean were without question heading the wrong way. Sam stopped dead in his tracks.

Intellectually, Sam knew there was no reason to feel that way. They had already searched the northern part of the woods and found nothing, and all the evidence they'd found so far suggested any new attacks would happen further south. Still, Sam felt a tug that clearly said they were moving away from what they were seeking rather than toward. With all logic suggesting the answer should be otherwise, Sam had to assume this new knowledge had more to do with instinct. Maybe his _other_ instincts.

"Dean," Sam called out again, his voice pitched low and tense.

Dean halted and spun around to face him, frustration radiating in his movements. "Sam-" he started then stopped, surprise registering on his face when he saw that Sam was several paces further behind him than he expected.

"We're going the wrong way," Sam told him once he had his brother's undivided attention.

Confused, Dean glanced around as if checking that he hadn't somehow lost his bearings. Satisfied that they were heading in the direction he'd intended, Dean shook his head. "No we're not," he denied.

Sam nodded that Dean was partially correct, and said, "I know we agreed to head south, but I really think we should be going north."

Dean took a few steps to stand in front of Sam. "What? Why? We just came from there, and we didn't see anything."

Sam grimaced, knowing Dean was not going to like the next words that came out of his mouth. "It's just – It's a _feeling_ I've got," Sam said darkly, putting as much meaning behind the words as he could.

"Whoa, whoa. A _feeling_?" Dean asked, catching Sam's intention behind the words, his face registering the displeasure Sam had expected. "What – are you channeling Miss Cleo again or something? Had a little dream about us in the woods? 'Cause let me tell you, if dreams of me and you in the woods at night are the best your subconscious can come up with, then you really need to-"

"Dean," Sam cut in, his tone stating that's Dean's humor was not appreciated. "I can't explain it; I just feel like we're heading the wrong way."

Dean looked behind him as if searching the expanse of woods for some kind of clue as to how to handle the situation. He turned back to Sam, none the wiser.

Sam understood his reluctance; he didn't feel any better about his newfound intuition than Dean did, and Sam was the one having to actually experience it. He could see it in Dean's eyes the moment his brother gave in.

"All right," Dean said, giving a heavy sigh. He started moving in the direction from which they'd just come. "We'll head north."

When Dean drew even with him, Sam turned and started walking with him, by his side this time rather than behind him, and Dean watched him from the corner of his eye, taking his directional cues from Sam. Sam only wished he knew more about what they were walking into than just a _feeling_.

* * *

The first thing Xander noticed upon regaining consciousness was an overwhelming stench. The second was that he couldn't feel his arms, quickly followed by a persistent ache in his stomach reminding him about those chicken tenders he'd never gotten and those cookies of Martha's that he had, regretfully, chosen _not_ to eat. In hindsight, a very bad idea.

He gingerly pried his eyes open and immediately winced at the light, a dull throb making its presence known at the back of his head. He tried to take in his surroundings, but his vision swam and tilted, and he clenched his eyes shut again, suddenly grateful that his stomach was empty as he fought down a wave of nausea.

Something cool touched Xander's forehead, and he flinched back reflexively. He blinked his eyes open again to find Avery crouching in front of him, her face a mask of concern and her hand still poised near his head.

"Xander? Are you okay?"

Xander blinked again, fighting to keep his eyes open in spite of his dizziness. "I've been worse," Xander said, swallowing thickly before adding, "I think."

"You were out for so long I was starting to worry." Avery reached her hand out to brush the hair off Xander's forehead, and though Xander was still tense, he allowed the touch this time.

"What happened?" Xander questioned groggily.

"You don't remember?" she turned the question back on him.

Xander gave a moment's consideration. His memory was difficult to pin down through the fog of pain currently engulfing his head, but he seemed to recall being on the phone with Willow. He'd heard a noise, and then-

"Something hit me," Xander remembered. Which would explain why his skull felt like it'd been used as a basketball.

"Yeah," Avery gave a murmured confirmation. "You might have a concussion. How does your head feel?"

"Like someone used it as a piñata, only there was no candy surprise." Xander made an instinctive move to touch the back of his head, then suddenly realized he couldn't. Giving a few experimental tugs, Xander concluded that his arms were bound behind his back, tied off at the wrists. _Kidnapped_, _great_. Xander didn't even want to guess how he was going to explain this to Sam and Dean. Although considering how closed-mouth they were with him, he didn't see any reason to be forthcoming. In fact, if he could get out of this on his own, they need never even know.

It occurred to Xander then that Avery wasn't incapacitated like he was, and realizing she must have somehow managed to free herself, he asked, "Think you could untie me?" He surveyed his surroundings, trying to place the location but coming up blank. "Where are we anyway?" It looked like the typical living room of any house, but it wasn't overly familiar to Xander, and he didn't think it was any room he'd seen at Martha's. At that thought, he remembered Martha and hoped that she was all right.

"We're at my house," Avery answered in an even, knowledgeable tone.

Xander brought his eyes back to Avery, and he suddenly noticed that she'd made no move to untie him. Instead, she was perched with perfect stillness, head cocked to the side as she watched him with an air of expectation.

"I'm sorry, but I needed your help," Avery said, the words coming out in an offhand sort of way.

Xander was confused. The statement seemed extremely incongruous considering he was tied up and concussed while Avery was free and seemingly unharmed. But as Avery continued to stare at him with an unblinking gaze, Xander's confusion gave way to unease and dread.

"When you say you need my help, you don't mean in a damsel-in-distress sort of way, do you?" Xander cringed as he said the words, already suspecting her answer.

Her lips quirked in an enigmatic smile, and she moved to stand. "It's all your brothers' fault," she began conversationally, reaching down to grab hold of one his legs.

Xander only had a few seconds to ponder what she meant by that before she started dragging him to the center of the room with surprising strength and speed. Without the wall at his back, he tumbled backward, his head smacking the floor, adding further insult to injury.

She abruptly let go of his leg, and Xander struggled to sit up, fighting back the renewed throbbing echoing through his skull. "This can't be good," he muttered quietly to himself. Xander found himself sitting inside a circle of intricate symbols that had been craved into the hardwood floor beneath him, and while he didn't know the exact meaning of the symbols, he was fairly certain their presence didn't bode well for him.

The words she'd just said came back to him, and he asked, "What do my brothers have to do with this?"

Avery gave him a hard look. "Don't you know?"

"Does this have something to do with that botched paint job from the other night?" Xander asked. He continued to stare at her uncomprehendingly, and she moved over to the side of the room where a tarp-covered, body-shaped lump had been laid, something he had not previously noticed.

She reached down, grabbed the corner of the tarp, and pulled it back with a flourish. Xander's face scrunched with disgust as he viewed what looked to be a demon corpse, and he'd lived in Sunnydale long enough to know one when he saw it. At least now he knew what the source of that stench was.

Avery turned back to face him with a hand on her hip and a venomous glare on her face. "Do you _see_ what your brother's have done to Razor?"

Xander's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "_That's_ Razor?"

Avery gave Xander a frustrated look as though he were clearly missing her point and gestured to the scaly, green corpse on the floor. "Those _brothers_ of yours," she spat, "killed him."

Moving past the fact that Razor had apparently been a demon this whole time – and an ugly one at that, Xander tried to focus on that other piece of information. "Sam and Dean did this?"

Xander must have looked genuinely confused because Avery's glare melted to a look of wary consideration. "You really didn't know anything about this?"

Xander shook his head, and Avery sighed, crouching down next to the demon and running a gentle hand over its slimy face, which caused Xander to grimace in disgust and look away.

"Those _brothers_ of yours," she started explaining, and Xander wished she'd stop saying the word 'brother' as if it were some sort of curse, "are demon hunters."

With as many times as Xander had been the victim of a head injury during his tenure on the Hellmouth, one would think he would have adapted and become capable of thinking clearly despite the fuzzy-headedness that came with such injuries. However, the most intelligent reply Xander could manage to Avery's revelation was a simply stated, "Huh," as though she'd merely given him the day's weather forecast.

But as the puzzle started to piece itself together in Xander's injury-addled brain, he realized it actually explained a lot. The secrecy they had about their work, the lack of workman's tools, how Sam had gotten so beat up on the 'job'. And Xander _knew_ that bad-paint smell had seemed familiar. It would seem that Xander and his newfound brothers had more in common than any of them could have imagined.

"They destroyed my creation."

The softly spoken words drew Xander's attention back to Avery, and once again he found her caressing the creature's face with mournful reverence.

"It doesn't matter though," she continued, and Xander wasn't sure if she were talking to him or the deceased demon. "Fang will take care of them."

Those words made Xander's heart stutter with worry, and he asked with a creeping sense of dread, "Fang?"

"Another one of my creations," Avery explained. "Your brothers are out looking for him right now. Little do they know, while they're hunting him, _he's_ actually hunting _them_. They won't be able to catch him off guard like they did Razor."

Avery turned her face toward him then, and Xander startled at the sight of her. He had once thought her pretty, but now anger twisted her face and marred whatever beauty she'd once held. Her lips curled in a fierce scowl, teeth bared, and all the color seemed to have drained from her irises, leaving her eyes white except for her large black pupils.

Xander's heart dropped into the empty pit of his stomach as the direness of his situation finally hit home. The delayed reaction could be chalked up again to his skull-numbing head injury, but, regardless of the delay, panic was starting to crawl its way over his skin. Not only were his brothers in danger, but Xander was in quite a fix himself, and it appeared the only people capable of coming to his rescue were about to walk into a trap of their own.

Avery stood and began moving toward Xander as she continued, "You see, I didn't want Razor to be lonely, so I created Fang."

Avery's words about not wanting Razor to be lonely sparked a memory in Xander, and his stomach gave a sick twist as he thought about the spotted puppy she'd taken home just yesterday. "Dare I ask what happened to Spot?" Xander questioned even though he doubted that he would like the answer.

Avery's lips slid into a sly smile, and she favored Xander with an expression of fond amusement as though he were merely a naïve child. "Razor was very amused," she told him playfully. "He howled for hours as he chased Spot around the house."

Xander's face fell as he imagined the terrifying experience the puppy must have had before probably getting eaten by the demon. He had very little time to give it consideration, though, as Avery crouched down next to him. Xander tried vainly to shuffle back away from her, but her hand quickly shot out and grabbed onto his ankle in a steel-like grasp.

"I don't want Fang to be alone anymore than I did Razor," Avery's voice was almost pleading as though she truly wanted Xander to understand her motives. "They're more than just creations, Xander. They're the only family I really have."

She had yet again referred to them as creations, and this time the word tugged at Xander's thoughts, some important detail flitting at the edges of his memory, just out of reach.

"Luckily," Avery continued, her grip on his ankle tightening almost to the point of pain, "you're exactly what I need to remedy the situation."

With an impending sense of doom, Xander reluctantly asked, "Am I supposed to be some kind of sacrifice?"

Avery's head tilted slowly to the side causing her eyes to glint in a completely inhuman way. "Not exactly," she answered vaguely.

Her lips stretched widely in a macabre, teeth-baring grin, and Xander decided that maybe he was better off not knowing the details of the gruesome fashion in which this was likely to end. However, he could not escape the blatant irony of the situation. It just figured that he would survive four years of high school on a _Hellmouth_ only to die at the hands of a demon on the opposite side of the continent _away_ from said Hellmouth.

* * *

"You pickin' up anything on that psychic-radar of yours, geek-boy?"

Sam gritted his teeth in frustration, tried counting to ten in an effort to find his calm, and then tried to think of all the reasons fratricide was a _bad_ thing. Maybe it was because Dean's annoying remarks kept interrupting his thought process, but he was drawing blank on that last one.

"It doesn't work like that," Sam explained tiredly, drawing on the last reserves of his patience.

Dean hefted his shotgun, letting the barrel rest on his shoulder, the movement causing moonlight to glint off the dark metal. "Doesn't work like what? 'Cause it seemed to be working well enough just a little while ago when you had us hauling ass back to square one."

Truthfully, they'd hit square one at the northern edge of the forest where they'd first started searching and, at Sam's insistence, kept right on going. Now they found themselves in a field, dangerously out in the open, covered only by darkness, and seemingly no closer to finding this demon than they had been several hours ago.

"You know, maybe we need to get you The Complete Idiot's Guide to Being Psychic, 'cause if this is the best you can do, we'd have better luck calling up Sylvia Brown and asking _her_ where to find-"

"Damnit, Dean!" Sam's patience finally snapped, and he stopped abruptly, turning toward his brother so that he could confront him face-on. "What the hell do expect me to do here? I wish I could control this, but I _can't_. If _you_ think this is frustrating, you should try being me for a while and see how you…" Sam trailed off as he spotted something over Dean's shoulder, across the field and just barely visible from where they were standing. "Is that a house?" Sam asked, gesturing behind Dean.

Sure enough, a few hundred yards away, half-hidden by the slope of the land and a small copse of trees, was what appeared to be a small, white house. Dean studied it over his shoulder for a moment before turning back to look in askance at Sam. Sam interpreted his look as '_Is this what we're looking for?_' and gave a half-shrug in return that seemed to say '_Maybe_' in the same brother-speak. Together, they began making their way toward the house moving as inconspicuously as they possibly could across the wide-open landscape.

In only a few short minutes, they drew up close to the house, lowering themselves closer to the ground – below window level – and moving alongside the house's outer walls with practiced stealth. On the house's opposite side, they found a large, lit window that came down to a couple feet above the ground and stretched high above their heads.

They put their backs to the wall, slid down low so that they were almost sitting on the ground, and crouched shoulder to shoulder next to the window. Dean was the closer of the two, and with great care he craned his neck to get a glimpse of what lay inside.

"Is that-" Dean started, then leaned in further to get a better view.

Curious about what had drawn Dean's attention, Sam used his height to lever himself above his brother and peer around for himself. Sam frowned at what he saw. "Is that Xander?"

Dean leaned over even further, putting himself in almost full-view of the window. "What the fu-"

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and jerked him back just as someone else came into view, cutting his brother off mid-sentence and causing them both to fall to the ground.

"Was that Avery?" Sam questioned of the other presence he had seen.

"I told him to stay put," Dean groused, peeking through the window again and taking care not to be seen. "Obviously he follows orders about as well as you do."

"Any ideas?" Sam asked, prodding his brother with an elbow in hopes that this question would actually be answered this time.

"Looks like Xander's tied up and Avery isn't, so I'm going to assume that our friendly neighborhood waitress isn't so friendly after all. That, or we've got to learn to tip better."

"Do you see anyone or anything else in there?"

Dean stilled for a moment, then in a sudden burst of movement, he bolted to the other side of the window, quickly resuming a stance similar to before with his back pressed to the wall. He shook his head and answered, "Looks like it's just him and her."

Sam shuffled closer to the window, taking up the space his brother had just vacated. He shot a quick look into the window before giving his brother a sidelong glance. "Think this has something to do with the demon attacks?"

Dean shifted impatiently, hands clenching in fists around his shotgun. His expression was strained as he monitored the goings-on in the room beyond the glass. "Maybe. But we can sort that out later; right now we need to get Xander out of there."

"Any bright ideas on how we go about doing that?" Sam asked in a cynical tone, his ire directed more toward their situation than his brother. Sam leaned around a bit to get a better view of the room's layout. Avery had her back to them now and was crouched down next to Xander with a hand grasping his ankle. Xander struggled but was unable to free himself from her grip, and it worried Sam that she seemed capable of holding him with such apparent ease.

"Maybe…" Dean started, pausing a moment for thought, "maybe we can find another way in. Catch her by surprise. I mean, if it's just her, how difficult could-"

Dean stopped suddenly as Avery stood, determination and menace radiating in her movements. Both brothers tensed, prepared to take action at the slightest indication that their brother was about to be harmed – plan or no plan be damned.

Then, with a nonchalance that seemed to contradict the situation, Avery skirted around Xander and calmly walked out of the room without a second glance back.

Sam and Dean caught each other's eyes, seeming to convey '_here's our chance_' in that split-second glance. Dean moved to lift the window, and Sam turned his eyes to Xander who had started squirming on the floor, struggling futilely to get out of his bonds.

"Dude, you're going to have to help me out here," Dean said through gritted teeth as he continued trying to shove the window open. "I think it's stuck."

Sam moved to help, bracing his hands on the upper frame of the lower windowpane. They pushed upward on the window together, putting as much force behind it as they could, and with a wheezy scrape the window lifted – but only by two inches.

"Damnit," Dean growled out. "Okay," he sighed, crouching down at the bottom of the window and wriggling his fingers under the open portion of the window. "You push at the top, and I'll pull at the bottom.

A low rumbling, similar to the noise the window had made, sounded before they could put the plan into action, and both frowned in confusion – first at the window, then at each other – then with dawning dread they turned their heads in synchronized, comic slowness to look behind them.

What stared back at them was a pair of round, yellow eyes that glowed like overgrown fireflies, a gaping maw that housed a double-row of glistening fangs better suited for a great white, and coarse fur, filthy with dirt.

A mere second passed between Sam's laying eyes on the creature and reaching down to pull his brother up, but it was a second too long. By the time he'd dragged his brother to a standing position, the creature had already launched itself airborne toward them. It collided with the two brothers and sent all three crashing through the window in a spray of shattered glass and splintered wood. What happened after that can only be best described as utter chaos.

Sam landed hard on the floor, glass crunching beneath him, and he reflexively brought his arms up to shield his head as more shards rained down on him. He quickly pulled his arms away, eyes darting to the side just in time to see that the creature was nearly upon him. It's jaws stretched wide as it lunged for his throat, but seconds before it made deadly contact, Dean barreled into it from the side, knocking the creature to the ground and sending it sliding several feet and into the wall.

Dean reached down and grabbed a handful of Sam's shirt, dragging him upright. "Get Xander," he ordered Sam urgently before bracing his shotgun against his shoulder and taking aim at the creature, which was already preparing for another attack.

Sam hurried over to Xander, fishing out his pocketknife as he knelt down next to the younger man. Sam looked his half-brother over while he reached behind Xander to cut through the bindings on his hands. He looked a little banged up and out of sorts but seemed to be intact, for the most part.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, even though the answer seemed self-evident. Who in their right mind would be all right after being roughed up and kidnapped?

"I've had worse," Xander returned somewhat groggily.

Sam felt that was highly unlikely but let the statement stand.

"We should probably hurry," Xander said unnecessarily, twisting his neck around to look past Sam toward Dean.

Sam turned his attention away from what his hands were doing to glance at Dean as well. His older brother was firing off rounds at the creature, but so far it was proving to be too fast for Dean. With inhuman speed it managed to dodge each of Dean's shots, and at best his brother only managed to keep the creature at bay.

Sam was almost finished cutting through the rope around Xander's wrists when the younger man suddenly startled.

"Sam, look out!" he shouted.

Sam turned and was tackled violently to the floor, his head colliding painfully with the hardwood. Avery, whom he'd forgotten about in all the action, was leaning over him now, eyes white with fury and lips curled in a venomous snarl.

"You killed Razor," she bit out malevolently. Her hands came up and encircled his neck in her viselike grip as if literally trying to squeeze the life from him, effortlessly cutting off his air supply with deadly sufficiency.

Sam gasped for air and seized her wrists, trying and failing to pry her hands from his throat. The seconds seemed to drag slowly as they struggled, and Sam's eyes watered as the need for oxygen started reaching desperate levels.

Over the blood pounding in his ears, Sam heard the crack of Dean's shotgun this time followed by an ear-splitting wail. The sound drew Avery's attention across the room, and her hold on his neck loosened.

Sam used the distraction to his advantage; he twisted Avery's wrists, completely severing her hold on him, while at the same time drawing his knees to his chest and planting his feet onto Avery's stomach. With all his strength he kicked outward, sending a surprised Avery flying into a bookshelf which tilted with the impact and toppled over on her.

Xander suddenly appeared at his side, apparently having managed to finish untying himself, and with a firm hand on Sam's arm, the younger man pulled Sam to his feet.

Xander kept a steadying hand on him as Sam gratefully sucked in a deep lungful of air, trying to shake off his oxygen-deprived dizziness.

Dean came up on Sam's other side, one hand reaching up to grasp tightly at Sam's shoulder. "Are you two all right?" he asked, his concerned gaze flicking back and forth between the two younger men.

Before either men could answer, the bookshelf started moving, Avery already stirring and trying to shift its weight off her.

Dean stared in wide-eyed surprise at the impending danger for a moment before turning to Sam and Xander. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The two younger men silently nodded their assent, and despite Sam's lingering lightheadedness, they quickly began making their way out of the house. Dean and Xander flanked Sam on either side as they moved, ready to catch him should the taller man sway too far to either side.

The creature snarled at them as they passed by but seemed too injured to attack them; it lay trembling near the wall, a widening pool of dark bluish sludge spilling out from beneath it and spreading across the floor.

Dean motioned for Xander to climb out the broken window first then helped Sam out and followed after them. They set back across the field at a brisk pace, moving even faster as Sam's lightheadedness finally wore off.

They didn't speak as they walked, too preoccupied with getting as far away from Avery and that house as fast as they could. An underlying thrum of tension quickly filled the atmosphere, however, as the silence became thick with unspoken concerns about the situation.

Sam didn't think it was possible for things to get more screwed up than they currently were. Even as he wracked his brain for excuses, some way to salvage the wreck that had just been made, Sam knew he'd never be able to come up with a plausible explanation this time. Everything had changed. Sam and Dean couldn't pass this off as a misunderstanding this time; they couldn't keep pretending to be a couple of normal guys. Their oh-so-brilliant plan to keep Xander safe and in the dark had backfired in spectacular Winchester fashion.

If the heavy set of Dean's shoulders was any indication, his brother was just as aware of that fact.

Sam hoped for Dean's sake that Xander took the earth-shattering revelation better than they expected. Dean had already watched one brother run away in search of something that better resembled normal. Sam hoped the younger man wouldn't end up following his example.

For his part Xander didn't seem overly panicked, merely darted curious glances at them when he didn't think they were looking. Sam optimistically took it as a good sign that Xander hadn't already freaked out or tried to run off.

Eventually they returned to where Sam and Dean had left the Impala, getting into the car without any verbal communication. Dean started up the ignition, shifted into drive, and sped off, fishtailing a little as he went. Sam glanced in the back at Xander, who grabbed at the car door's armrest just in time to keep from sliding across the backseat due to Dean's sharp turn.

Sam looked at Dean from the corner of his eye. He hoped, for once, that his older brother would let him do the talking when they finally discussed things with Xander; however, as his brother took another sharp turn that had Sam, himself, clutching at his armrest, he got the feeling it was too much to hope for.

* * *

Xander jumped out of the car as soon as they pulled up in front of Martha's and fought the urge to kiss the ground. For a while there he worried that they had escaped demonic peril only to wind up twisted around a light post thanks to Dean's dreams of a becoming a driver at the Indy 500. However, they managed to arrive safely, car and all, despite narrowly avoiding every ditch they drove past.

He followed Sam and Dean up the sidewalk to the front door, and they slipped quietly into the building. The lights were dimmed, and the area behind the check-in desk was empty. Xander fearfully wondered where Martha was and surged in the direction of the back room, but Dean grabbed him by the shirt before he could get very far.

"Where do you think you're going?" the older man hissed quietly.

Xander lightly tried to tug himself free, but Dean held tight. "We need to check on Martha," he hissed back.

Dean shook his head but released his hold on Xander's shirt. "You stay here," he whispered sternly. "I'll go check on her."

As he moved toward the hallway, Dean gave Sam a look, and Xander got the impression that Dean was telling the older man to keep an eye on him. Xander bristled a little at that. Just because he'd managed to get kidnapped by a demon didn't mean he needed looking after like some five-year-old. Things like that happened to him all the time…although maybe that wasn't the best argument with which to defend himself.

Dean came back a moment later, shaking his head with a perplexed expression. "She's sleeping. She _appears_ to be fine, not that you could tell from that buzz saw noise she's making," Dean told them, no longer bothering to keep his voice lowered. Apparently he felt that if Martha's own snoring couldn't wake her, then they didn't stand a chance either.

"She'll probably be heartbroken if she finds out that you were in her bedroom and she missed her opportunity to have her way with you," Xander remarked, still stinging from being bossed around as if anything that had happened was his fault. From the look Dean sent him, he gathered the older man didn't appreciate the comment.

They went up the staircase, making no effort to tread lightly, then trudged down the hall to their room. The moment the door closed behind them, Dean whirled on Xander.

"What part of 'stay put' did you not understand?" Dean demanded.

Xander gaped at the older man's audacity, and Sam's eyes rolled upward, gaze rising to the ceiling as if to ask God, '_Why me_?'

Xander quickly shook off his astonishment and retorted with heavy sarcasm, "Oh, I'm sorry. The _next time_ some crazy chick wants to knock me out and drag me back to her satanic playhouse for some ritual fun, I'll be sure to let her know that she has to ask my _big brother_ first." The way Xander spit out the word 'brother' it didn't come off sounding at all flattering, and Xander was slightly gratified to see Dean flinch, guilt coloring his face.

Sam held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Look, we're sorry, it's just…" he trailed off, sighing heavily and glancing anxiously at Dean, who returned a similar look. Their postures both screamed of nervousness. Sam turned his attention back to Xander, swallowing thickly before pressing on, "This is just a little awkward. You see…we're not really traveling repairmen."

"Uh huh." Xander managed to keep his voice non-committal, his expression bland. He already had a pretty clear guess about where Sam was going with all this, but he didn't feel particularly inclined to let them off the hook just yet. After all, if they had simply told him from the start that they were here to hunt demons, he might have been able to avoid becoming demon bait.

"You see, demons and spirits and other creatures? They're real," Sam paused, as though giving Xander time to process that revelation. "And Dean and I…we hunt them."

Xander waited a beat before nodding slowly and drawling out, "Yeah, I know." He couldn't have had a less surprised reaction if Sam had just told him the grass was green and the sky was blue.

Sam reeled back with a stunned expression as if Xander had just stomped all over the punch line of his favorite joke. "Wait, what? How did you- I mean…" Sam seemed completely flustered as if he'd been so prepared for Xander to freak out that it had never even occurred to him that Xander might take the news well – that he might already _know_, and now he had no clue how to handle Xander's complete non-reaction.

Dean, on the other hand, eyed him warily as if he didn't quite believe him. "You know?" he asked doubtfully, like he thought maybe Xander was taking the news so well not because he already knew but rather because he thought they were crazy and that it was in his best interest to merely humor them until he could get away the loonies.

"Yeah, Avery's the one who let the cat out of the bag, actually," Xander explained. "Which by the way," he started in an indignant tone, "if you guys had just told me you were here to hunt demons, maybe Avery wouldn't have caught me off guard."

"So you know about demons," Dean pressed more firmly, like he was still sure that Xander's calm was because he was either feigning belief or in deep denial.

"Yes," Xander reiterated. "I've known about them for three years now. I've lived my whole life on the Hellmouth. The mayor turned into a giant snake-demon at my graduation and started munching on my classmates."

"Uh, that…" Sam's tongue stumbled over the words, his eyebrows arching toward his hairline, face marred by an expression of total bafflement as if his brain couldn't quite puzzle out what to do with Xander's last statement.

"A Hellmouth?" Dean questioned suspiciously, catching on to the earlier part of Xander's diatribe. "I thought that was just a myth."

"Sunnydale," Sam stated wonderingly before Xander could reply. A dawning look of understanding stole across Sam features now, an expression Xander had seen grace Willow's face numerous times when she finally realized something that she should have known all along. "I _knew_ that sounded familiar."

"Wait a second," Dean interrupted, turning to Sam with a look of betrayal as though Sam had been deliberately holding out on him. "You knew about this?"

"Yeah, it's not a myth," Sam said, turning to the older man. "Dad wrote about it in his journal."

"_Dad_ knew about this? Unbelievable!" Dean shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Am I the only one who didn't know?"

Sam, who seemed to have gotten over Xander's lack of surprise and regained his composure, ignored Dean's outburst and turned his attention to the younger man. "Xander, do you have any idea why Avery might have gone after you?"

"Well, she said she needed my help to create another-" Something that had been nagging at Xander's mind since his encounter with Avery finally clicked, like a giant breaker had been flipped and turned on the floodlights. His mind pulled forth a conversation he, Willow, and Giles had had several weeks ago when they were still trying to learn about the ascension. Xander snapped his fingers and assumed the _eureka-pose_ that had been perfected by Rupert Giles. "She's a gift-wrap demon," he blurted out excitedly.

Sam and Dean simultaneously frowned with twin expressions of '_What the fuck_?'

"A gift-wrap demon?" Dean echoed incredulously, his tone making the sentence come out sounding more like '_Oh yeah, _you're _crazy_.'

Xander rolled his eyes and waved his hands wildly in front of him. "Okay, not gift-wrap, it was gurgle-rock or grilled-frog, or – something I can't pronounce. Look, the point is she's like the Doctor Frankenstein of the demon world. She creates other demons by using—" and there Xander's theory hit a snag. "Damnit!"

"What?" Dean asked needlessly.

"Those demons use the demonic energy of the Hellmouth to make their creations, and since the Hellmouth is currently on the other side of the continent, there's no way Avery can be using it to create demons," Xander explained, disappointed that his theory was a bust.

Sam's brow furrowed in thought, the wheels almost visibly turning in his head, "If all Avery needs is demonic energy, she wouldn't necessarily have to get it directly from the Hellmouth."

Xander and Dean shared a glance then looked inquisitively toward him, urging him to elaborate.

Sam continued, "Sometimes, certain mystical objects – gems, talismans, orbs – can soak up energy and be used as a sort of retainer or conduit until someone's ready to use that energy."

"Like, say, a creepy black and red rock that Avery got in the mail?" Xander pitched in, thinking back to the package Avery had been so excited to receive.

"That sounds about right," Sam agreed.

"But that still doesn't explain why she'd need Xander," Dean pointed out.

Sam, it seemed, had an idea about that too. "Well, several theories adhere to the idea that all living matter is mystic to at least a small degree, which would make them capable of acting as a retainer. Theoretically, if a person spent a long enough time in close proximity to a demonic hotspot, they'd eventually become tainted by that energy and end up as a sort of human storage box.

"Like I said, though, close proximity would be needed. It'd take more than just living in the same town as the Hellmouth, you'd have to spend large amounts of time at the exact site of the Hellmouth."

Xander cleared his throat and shuffled embarrassedly. "So let's say I spent the majority of three years researching demons in my high school library, which just so happened to sit directly on top of the mouth of hell?"

"Then I'd say you're a prime candidate for a retainer of demonic energy," Sam sighed in resigned disappointment as though he had hoped Xander wouldn't say that but was completely unsurprised by the affirmation.

Dean regarded Xander quizzically, his following words laced with sarcasm, "You spent three years sitting around on top of a Hellmouth, and it never once occurred to you that that might be a _bad_ idea?"

Xander gave Dean a sullen glare, not needing the older man point out just what a mistake that had been. "Great," Xander huffed out in aggravation. "So Avery wants to use me as a demonic battery to resurrect her Franken-demon. Seriously, the chicks I attract… I always thought it was a joke when I said I was a demon magnet, now it turns out to be true?"

"Yeah, you really do have crap taste in women," Dean threw in helpfully.

"You have no idea," Xander asserted. "The first girl I dated, turned out to be an Incan Mummy, and then that substitute teacher who turned out to be a giant preying mantis—"

"Dude, you bagged a teacher?" Dean asked with a sly grin, something like pride tingeing his voice.

"Ugh, don't even ask about that one," Xander warned with a shudder, not at all impressed by the memory. "After that was Cordelia – well, she's in a league of her own, and then there's Anya, who's an ex- Vengeance Demon. I have some kind of dating curse. I should have known that Avery was a demon the second she asked me out."

"Yeah," Dean commiserated. "She took one look at me and went straight for you, that should clued me with warning bells, right then. 'Cause any chick that wouldn't go for this," Dean made a 'check me out' gesture, then finished in a tone of absolute certainty, "is clearly evil."

"Guys!" Sam cut in sharply, frustration elevating the pitch of his voice. Xander and Dean turned their attention to Sam, who was looking back and forth between the two of them as if they'd both lost their minds. "Can we _focus_, please?"

"Right." "Sorry." Dean and Xander said, respectively, in unison.

Dean leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Xander, his voice still loud enough for Sam to catch his words and his tone deadly serious, "That's Sammy's bitch-voice. You've gotta watch out for that."

The corner of Xander's mouth twitched at that, and Sam glared at both them, his expression a study in supreme irritation like a man who'd been tasked to run a marathon while he had two preschoolers tied to each leg.

"So we just have to figure out what to do now," Sam stated.

"Well, we know what Avery wants," Dean started, finally getting serious, "Now we just need to figure out how to stop her."

Xander perked up suddenly. "I know just who to call," he said brightly.

Dean looked at him worriedly. "Oh, dude, if you say Ghostbusters…"

"No," Xander assured him. "I mean my high school librarian."

Dean frowned at him, "I think that's actually worse."

Xander rolled his eyes at Dean's reluctance and moved over to the phone. "Seriously, if there's anyone that knows how to stop Avery, it's Giles."

"Are you sure we can't just go in guns ablazin' and blast her full of buckshot?" Dean whined. "You'd be surprised how many things that will kill."

Xander continued dialing, ignoring Dean's protests. After a couple rings a familiar British voice answered, "Hello?"

"Giles, hey, it's Xander. I need—"

"Xander? Good lord! Are you all right?" Giles asked urgently.

Xander startled, surprised at this seemingly unprovoked show of concern. He hadn't thought the hour was all that late, and it should be even earlier over in California right now. "Um…yeah, I'm fine. Why—"

"Willow's been frantic," Giles told him, the reprimand clear in his voice now that his worry had been appeased.

_Crap_, Xander thought, having completely forgotten that he'd been on the phone with Willow when he'd done his spectacular knocked-out-and-kidnapped routine.

"She said you—"

Giles was abruptly cut off, and suddenly Willow's voice came screeching down the line, "Xander! My God, I was so worried. Are you okay? I thought something might have happen to you? Did something happen? Why didn't you call?"

"Whoa, Willow, calm down."

Dean and Sam both watched him curiously as he talked. He turned his back to them, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Calm down?" Willow's voice burned with disbelief. "Xander, I thought you might be in some serious trouble. We were almost ready to call Buffy and come to North Carolina ourselves. What happened?"

Xander was relieved that they hadn't called Buffy yet. The slayer could be quite fearsome when her friends were in danger. "Actually, I _was_ in trouble," Xander confirmed. "But my brothers helped me out." It occurred to Xander that that was the first time he had actually called them _brothers_ – and actually mean it – when the older men were nearby to hear it. He wanted to glance over his shoulder to see if it had sparked any kind of reaction but managed to restrain himself.

"Look, it's a long story, and I promise I'll explain everything later, but right now we need your help."

Xander's plea for help quickly refocused Willow's attention, and just as he would have expected of his best friend, she was ever-ready to lend a hand. "What do you need?" she asked eagerly.

"Do you remember back before the ascension when we were playing 'Top-This-Demon' and we talked about the Doctor Frankenstein of the demon world?" Xander reminded.

"The gwuerlfrawk?" Willow asked immediately.

Xander shook his head at the name again; something really had to have gotten lost in translation on that one. "Completely unpronounceable; yeah, that sounds about right. Anyway, we've kind of run into a situation with one here."

As Xander continued filling Willow in on the details, Sam and Dean went about dragging out various weapons, laying them out across one of the beds, and taking stock of what supplies they had and might need. Xander had to pause several times in his telling – especially when he reached that part about Avery wanting him as a demonic battery – to remind her that _yes, he was fine_ and _yes, his brothers were fine too_. He thought it best not to mention his concussion and Sam's bout with near-strangulation. Willow was already half-primed to come to Waiverton as it was.

Once Xander had thoroughly convinced Willow that they were fine and could handle this on their own and after she'd relayed everything he'd told her to Giles, she passed the phone back off to the Watcher.

Giles explained about the gwuerlfrawks and how to go about killing them, then questioned Xander curiously, "Willow said this demon wanted to use you in its creation ritual?"

"Yeah, it turns out all that time spent studying on the Hellmouth turned me into a mystical Energizer Bunny," Xander returned bitterly.

"Yes, well, that can be easily remedied with a simple purification rite," Giles mentioned nonchalantly.

"Wait a second!" Xander blurted out, upset. "Did you know about all this energy storage stuff?"

"Of course," Giles returned matter-of-factly. "The idea of living creatures being capable retaining mystical energy is a fascinating subject."

"No. _Not_ fascinating, disturbing," Xander denied in a high-strung voice. "You couldn't have mentioned this _before_ I went traveling around the country looking like a demon goody bag?"

"I _am_ terribly sorry," Giles stated with complete sincerity. "I should have thought of it sooner, but it honestly hadn't occurred to me."

"Hadn't occ—" Xander started indignantly before biting off his sentence, a frustrated noise getting caught in the back of his throat. "All right, so this purification thing?"

"Yes, it's a simple spell designed to cleanse one's aura. It should be able to eradicate whatever demonic energy you've acquired," Giles explained.

"So, basically, you're saying I need a mystical bath?" Xander asked, summing things up quite nicely, he thought.

Giles gave a put-upon sigh. "Yes. As always you've managed to boil things down to their simplest form. I'll give you back to Willow now; she can explain the details of the spell to you."

Willow came back on the line, and Xander took notes as Willow began listing the spell's ingredients and the incantations that would need to be spoken. Willow had Xander read the ingredient list and instructions back to her to make sure he'd written it all down correctly, then asked again, "Are you _sure_ you guys can handle this by yourselves?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Xander stated, his voice infused with assurance.

"'Cause we could grab Buffy, get on a plane, and be in Waiverton in ten hours. Maybe less," Willow added.

Xander grinned at Willow's persistence and answered, "Really, we can't handle it."

"It's just…" Willow started, paused, then let the rest of the words tumble out in an anxious rush. "What about the spell? I mean it's not a difficult spell or anything, and not that I'm good at doing difficult spells, which this isn't, but you can't do this by yourself; and what if your brothers haven't ever done a spell before? Not that you'll turn into a frog if they do it wrong or anything, and it's a fairly fail-safe spell, but it's important to get it right if there's a demon looking to use you. And I know I gave the spell in English, which is fine, but they're always better if they're done in Latin and if I were there I could translate the Latin, not that it has to be Latin to work, and some of those ingredients might be difficult to find, and I—"

"Willow!" Xander cut in loudly, then commanded, "Breathe."

Willow sucked in a deep breath then slowly let it out. "Okay," she conceded reluctantly, the pout palpable in her voice. "But you have to promise me that you'll be careful and that you'll call as soon as this is all over with."

"I will, I promise," Xander said, putting as much surety into the vow as possible. "We're going to be fine, Willow. Try not to worry."

"Easy for you to say, I'm not the one in danger," Willow griped, and Xander could picture the frown she was wearing.

"Wills, you're sitting on top of the Hellmouth; that's the very definition of _danger_," Xander argued.

"Yeah, well…I guess," Willow hedged.

Xander was willing to bet that her nose was scrunched up in an anxious expression, hesitant to let him hang up the phone and go where she couldn't be sure of what was happening to him. He hated leaving her in a nervous state, but he also didn't want to keep his brothers waiting. "I've gotta go," he told her grudgingly, trying to mask some of his own anxiety that he was starting to feel. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Take care, Xander," she demanded then whispered, "bye."

Xander said his own goodbye then turned to face Sam and Dean. "Well, it's a good thing we didn't go in guns ablazin'."

"Why's that?" Dean asked with a wryly arched brow.

"Avery's pretty much SuperGirl when she's in her human form. Giles said you could drop a grand piano on her and she wouldn't feel a thing." Xander paused then amended, "Okay, so what he really said was that she's impervious to all forms of physical and magical attack and has uncharted regenerative powers, but I really felt my 'grand piano' explanation summed it up nicely."

"Well, that's great," Dean said, clearly unhappy at this turn of events. "Did he have any information that might actually be _useful_?"

"Yes," Xander retorted, glaring at the interruption. "She's vulnerable when she's in a her true form."

"Her true form?" Sam inquired from where he leaned against the wall.

Xander nodded. "Yep. Under that cute-girl façade there's a frightening amount of slime and tentacles. I've seen the pictures; believe me, it's not pretty."

"What was that other stuff about?" Sam asked, gesturing to the paper in Xander's hand.

"Oh, that's a spell Willow gave me that's supposed to get rid of my Hellmouthy vibe."

"Do you mind if I take a look?" Sam asked, pulling away from the wall and stepping closer to Xander.

"Sure." Xander handed over the list, adding as he did, "I don't suppose either of you speak Latin, do you? She said it didn't have to be in Latin but that it would be better if it were."

"Yeah, actually," Sam murmured offhandedly as he continued reading. "It shouldn't be too difficult to translate this."

"Good," Dean piped in. He picked up one of his guns and began going through the motions of cleaning it. "We'll take care of that first, get that out of the way so we don't have any surprises, and then we'll figure out what to do about Avery. Either of you have any suggestions on how to get Avery to switch forms?" he asked, briefly glancing up at them before returning his attention to cleaning the gun.

"Um, actually, that's the thing," Xander began tentatively. "Giles said the only time these gruelfrocks, or whatever, take their true form is when they're making their creations. So I figure we'll just wait till after to do that spell, and we'll use me as bait."

Dean's hands stilled, and he flicked his gaze up to Xander. A dark frown marred his features, and he stared at the younger man for a few seconds before stating flatly, "No. Not gonna happen."

"Why not?" Xander blurted out in surprise. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the greatest plan ever, but it made sense to him, even if he did say so himself. "We need to get Avery in her true form, and she needs me in order to create more demons. Giles said she should be pretty easy to kill once she changes, so as soon she does, we go with your guns ablazin' plan before she has a chance to suck the energy out of me or whatever, and then – there ya go. Waiverton's demon problems are history."

"He has a point," Sam backed up him.

Dean's uncompromising gaze shot over to Sam. "No, he doesn't."

"Look, we may have to hold off on this spell anyway," Sam argued, holding up the paper in his hands. "Some of these ingredients I know we won't find here in town."

"Then we'll just go somewhere we can find them and then come back," Dean reasoned.

"Dean," Sam's voice rang out reproachfully. "Who knows what Avery could do during all that time. She seemed pretty pissed about that first demon we killed, and now that you shot that second one, there's no telling what she might be desperate enough to do."

"Sam, we're not using him as bait," Dean threw back, nearly shouting.

"Well, then, what's your brilliant plan?" Sam asked, voice raising to match Dean's. "Without Xander how do you suggest we get Avery to change form?"

Dean fumbled for an answer, face contorting in frustration. "We'll come up with something," he said finally, at a loss.

Sam paused to take a calming breath. "Look, Dean, it's not anything either one of us hasn't done at some time or another. And it's not like he's going to be by himself in this. We'll come up with some sort of plan to minimize the risks."

Dean glared stonily at the younger man, looking as if he had no intention of backing down, and Sam stared back with his own imploring expression, lips pressed together in a thin line. Xander got the feeling that the argument was still ongoing as they stared each other down, fought out now in some language of silence and jaw-clenching that Xander wasn't privy to.

Finally, Dean shook his head in aggravation and turned to Xander. "Do you even know how to use a gun?"

Xander moved over to the bed where Dean had spread out their mini-arsenal. He picked up a clip and one of the handguns. Expertly, he loaded the clip into the gun, pulled back the slide to chamber a round, and flicked the safety off. His movements seemed practiced and efficient, as if he'd dealt with guns his whole life.

He turned turn back to his brothers. "And I'm a fair shot, too," he added.

The two older men shared sidelong glances before looking back toward Xander, their expressions equal parts impressed and surprised.

Xander lazily shrugged a shoulder and explained, "One time at Halloween we all got turned into our costumes, and I was an army guy. After the spell was over, all the army info kind of stuck, and it's turned out to be pretty damn useful."

Sam blinked and stared at Xander with a confounded expression.

Dean stared at him too, expression indecipherable. "You know we're going to have a long talk about all this when this is over, right?"

"Yeah, I figured that," Xander agreed.

Dean stared a beat longer then clapped his hands together and said, "All right, if we're going to do this, we need to start working it out. Avery already knows we're on to her, which means the element of surprise is shot. She's gonna see us coming a mile away, so we've gotta come up with a damn good plan."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

Dean moved to the side of the room, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest, favoring Sam with an expectant look.

Xander, following Dean's lead, turned toward Sam with his own look of anticipation.

It took Sam a couple of seconds to notice their staring, his eyes flitting back and forth between the two before it occurred to him what they were waiting on. "Right, so I guess I'll just get working on that plan."

"Great." Dean jumped away from the wall. "Xander and I will go raid the kitchen for some food while you get on that."

"Thank God," Xander sighed in relief. "I haven't eaten all day."

Dean gave Sam a grin and a slap on the shoulder as he passed him on the way to the door, saying, "Don't worry, Sammy. We'll bring something back for you too."

"It's _Sam_," he called after them.

Xander barely caught the words as he eagerly trailed out the door after Dean. The big talk was over, they were halfway ready to get rid of Avery the demon-bitch, and Xander was about to remedy that hunger problem that he'd been dealing with all day. All in all, he felt his night was improving.

* * *

Random Trivia: There really is a Complete Idiot's Guide to Being Psychic. Also, somewhere in here there's a line that is a slight throwback to a season one episode of _Supernatural_. Can anyone guess the line and episode? Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Hopefully that won't happen again.

Major thanks to Lisette for beta-ing this for me:)

* * *

Shadows enveloped Avery like a mother's embrace, its cool darkness slithering over her skin. It kept her safe and hidden, tucked away from _their_ eyes. She, however, was not bound by such limitations; her keen eyesight allowed her to watch them as if in broad daylight, tracking them with malicious intent.

She had followed them from Martha's to the woods and then started trailing them. She moved like a wraith behind them, soundless; they couldn't possibly know she was there. But _her_ ears caught every movement they made, even the slightest brush. She could track them by sound alone if she wanted, especially with the way they argued at the top of their lungs. _Stupid humans._

_"We know what we're doing, Xander. Just follow our lead_," the tall one was saying.

The argument elevated, Xander's voice echoing through the trees. _"You're wrong! We need to go back to that house. We'll never find her out here."_

So Xander _was_ a hunter, and he was hunting for _her_. He had lied to her. She'd make him pay for that.

_"_I'm_ the one in charge here_," Dean yelled. _"And if you have a problem with that, we can finish this on our own."_

_"Fine."_ Xander ground out. _"I'll go back there by myself."_

_"Fine,"_ Dean returned just as bitingly. _"Sam, let's go."_

The taller one followed dutifully, barely sparing a glance as the two left Xander behind, and Xander did an about-face, stomping off in the opposite direction.

Avery smirked, unseen in the shadows. Humans were so quick to turn on each other; it almost made this too easy. She ignored the two older brothers in favor of her new toy, slipping noiselessly from her hiding spot and falling in behind Xander. She didn't even bother keeping to the shadows. If Xander were to turn around, he'd spot her easily; but he marched onward, completely unaware of her presence.

_Some hunter he is_, Avery thought.

She closed in swiftly, eager to exact her revenge. Her fist darted out, striking the back of his head like a viper, and he dropped at her feet like a sack of rocks.

Reaching down, she hefted his weight and smiled to herself. "Much too easy."

* * *

Xander came to awareness with a sinking sense of déjà vu. If he was right – and he probably was – he'd been knocked out. Again. The setup was familiar: rope around his wrists, Avery's house, the sacrificial circle. Xander sighed heavily and levered himself upright. "Here we go again."

"Oh good. For a minute, I was worried you were going to miss the show." Avery stood a few feet off to the side, petting Fang, who, despite Dean's best efforts, was still very much alive. And, boy, did he look pissed. "Go stand watch outside," Avery commanded with one last brush of her hand.

Fang snarled at Xander before leaving to do as his master bid.

"Xander, Xander, Xander." Avery tsked, shaking her head and moving toward him.

His glib reply was dulled by the fuzziness of his latest concussion and his nervousness. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

She was apparently not very impressed with his attempted humor. "I'm very disappointed in you. All this time I thought your brothers were the hunters, but you're just like them."

Xander shrugged. "Well, what can I say? Guess it runs in the family."

"Maybe so." Avery smiled like the joke was on him. "But your family isn't here now, are they?"

Xander glared back and her smile widened.

Her eyes melted to white, and she began circling him, stretching as she went like she was trying to work out a kink in her back – or work her way out of her skin, as it turned out. It looked like an egg hatching; Xander half expected one of the creatures from Alien to burst from her stomach. Her skin pulled taut till it began splitting and ripping apart.

Xander cringed when the first tentacle appeared, dripping with slime and mucus. A litany of _'I knew this was a bad idea'_ started up in his head. He had a feeling this was going to get messy. Even as he thought it, one of Avery's tentacles shot out and wrapped itself around his arm. It _burned_ against his bare skin, and his eyes watered. There was a distant rumbling sound, and Fang's howls could be heard echoing just outside the house, but Xander and Avery were too preoccupied to take any notice.

The rest of her Avery-costume slipped away like the tattered remains of a busted balloon, baring her true demon form, tentacles, oozing yellow goo, and all. It was even uglier than the picture, Xander thought absently through the searing pain in his arm.

The rest of her tentacles reached out to join the first, and the burning sensation increased, along with a sinking, swirling feeling that was nauseating. It felt like the life was literally being sucked out of him, directly through his skin. The air felt thick, and he gasped for breath as his lungs began to fail. He hunched over, barely managing to keep himself from slumping to the floor. Just as his vision was starting to darken, Xander caught a blur of motion from the corner of his eye. There was an ear-splitting screech, and suddenly he was able to breath again, ravenously sucking in oxygen. He felt heavy and exhausted, more drained than he ever remembered feeling.

It took most of the energy he had to pry his eyes open; his vision still swam slightly, but he was able to make out the struggling figures of Sam and Demon-Avery. Sam wasn't having much luck holding his own. One of Avery's tentacles had wrapped around Sam's neck, lifting him the air. His hands clawed at the slimy appendage that prevented him from breathing as his feet kicked at the air, struggling to find purchase.

It was all happening in a fog to Xander, like his mind couldn't connect what he was seeing to any coherent thought. There was something he should be doing, something he _needed_ to do. _Sam_ needed him, he realized with a start. Fighting off the lethargy that continued to weigh him down, he reached mechanically for the gun, hidden under his pant leg near his ankle. The bindings hampered his movements some, but he managed an acceptable grip.

The gun felt heavy as an anvil in his hands, but by some miracle he raised it up, wavering only slightly under the weight. He took aim at what he thought might be the demon's heart, squinted his eyes against the blurred vision, and just hoped to God he didn't accidentally shoot Sam. He pulled the trigger: once, twice; kept shooting till he'd emptied the clip. The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment nothing seemed to happen; the scene froze like a macabre painting. Xander worried that he'd failed.

Then with dramatic slowness, Avery's body began to lean until finally it toppled to the floor with a wet slap. Sam's feet hit the floor, and he staggered, remaining upright only by the grace of God as he unwrapped the now-limp tentacle from around his neck.

Convinced that the drama was finally over, Xander flopped back and closed his eyes, letting a tired sigh escape. "The next time I volunteer to be bait, please remember to slap me."

"Will do," Sam promised, followed by a brief coughing spell. He moved over to Xander, reaching down and grabbing an arm to help pull him up.

As Sam pulled out a pocketknife and began cutting through his bonds, Xander asked. "Where's Dean?"

"He said that he and Fang had some unfinished business to—" As he said the words, the front door was flung open with a bang, and both Xander and Sam gaped when Dean came staggering in, covered from head to toe in a dark blue sludge; there wasn't an inch of him that wasn't covered.

"Sam, Xander! Are you guys all right?" Dean spotted the dead demon on the floor, and his face twisted with disgust. "Guess the plan worked." Sam and Xander were still staring at the gruesome mess covering Dean. When he noticed where their gazes were drawn, he looked down at himself, as if only just noticing the disaster now that he was no longer preoccupied with worrying about his brothers, and with a grimace exclaimed, "_Son of a bitch!_ Why am I always the one that gets covered in demon gunk?"

Xander raised his hand like they were in a class setting. "I'll trade you that for my concussions." He rubbed the back of his skull. "Good thing I'm as hard-headed as Willow says I am."

"Try getting strangled every time," Sam threw in his own complaint. "Nice timing, by the way. If you hadn't shot Avery when you did, I probably would have blacked out."

Dean gave the demon corpse a cursory glance, noticing the eight bullet wounds, all center mass. "Damn. That's some good aim you've got there."

Even Xander was surprised by his prowess. "Wow. And I was just glad I didn't end up shooting Sam."

"What?" Sam flicked a startled glance at Xander.

"Looks like that army stuff stuck even better than I thought," the younger man continued, eyeing the demon carcass with a little pride.

"Whoa, whoa. When was the last time you actually shot a gun?" Dean asked.

"Well, actually, it was just the once. Guns aren't much use in Sunnydale."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "You mean the only time you've ever actually shot a gun was when you were under that spell or whatever?"

Xander nervously cleared his throat. "I didn't mention that?"

Sam paled, and Dean frowned, reaching over and pulling the gun out of Xander's hand.

"No more gunplay until you've had some practice at the shooting range," Dean ordered with a reprimanding glare.

They lapsed into a tired silence, gazes dropping to the gooey yellow body at their feet.

"I 'spose we should do something about this," Sam commented wearily.

A manic grin lit Dean's face. "I've got an idea."

"Dean, we are not going to torch the house!" Sam cut in immediately.

"Aw, why not?!" Dean whined.

Sam sighed and turned to Xander as if asking for back-up.

"Oh, don't look at me," the younger man denied. "I helped to blow up my high school on graduation day."

Dean chuckled and slapped Xander on the shoulder. "Good man."

Sam rolled his eyes and shouldered past the two, heading for the door and muttering as he went, "This entire family is _nuts_."

The other two followed behind, Dean quizzing Xander. "So what'd you use? C4? Dynamite?"

They went outside, heading to the far back side of the house where Sam and Dean had left the Impala. Dean popped the trunk, and the three of them gathered up the supplies needed to torch the house, Sam grumbling to himself, "I can't believe we're doing this," the whole time.

They returned to the house, dousing the inside and outside with lighter fluid. As Xander finished circling around the outside, coming back to the front to meet up with Sam and Dean, he spotted a faucet with a water hose attached. A thought occurred to him, and his mouth curled mischievously. He grabbed up the hose in one hand, bent it into a kink, then turned on the water.

Dean was about to light a match when Xander said, "You know, before we burn this place maybe we should…" He trailed as he prepared to let loose the hose.

"Should what?" Dean prompted as he turned to Xander only to stop short when a spray of water hit him in the face. "GAH!" He waved his arms wildly, vainly trying to ward off the water. Eventually he gathered enough wits to step out of the line of fire.

Xander was laughing too hard to follow him with the hose.

"What the hell was that for?" Dean demanded.

"Just thought…that you could…do with a shower," Xander wheezed out between laughs, doubling over.

Dean looked down at himself. "Right, because slimy _and_ soaked is such an improvement." The derisive statement sent Xander into peals of laughter again. "It's not that funny."

"You should have seen your face," Xander choked out, cackling.

"You know you're going to pay for this, right?" Dean warned.

"You know," Sam interjected, "he has a point. You're not going to want to get in the car like that."

"All right, that's it," Dean said, finally fed up with Xander's laughter. He made to run at Xander, but the younger man was too quick and turned the hose on him again, causing Dean to splutter as the spray hit him in the face. "God _damnit_. You're riding in the trunk from here on out!"

Sam threw his hands up in aggravation, marching over to grab the hose out of Xander's hand. "Here," he said, holding out a matchbook. "You light up the house, and I'll finish hosing off Mister Sunshine."

Xander shrugged and relinquished his hold on the hose, trading it for Sam's matches. As Xander wandered closer to the house and Dean prepared himself for the spray again, Sam added under his breath, "Seriously, like preschoolers."

"I heard that!" Xander and Dean exclaimed in unison.

Annoyed, Sam sprayed Dean with the hose more vigorously than was probably necessary, and Dean cursed.

Sam chuckled and commented to Xander, "You know, this _is_ kind of fun. Nice stress-reliever."

"I just want you two to know that whatever happens," Dean began stoically, "you brought it on yourselves."

Sam's only response was to spray Dean some more, laughing as the older man grimaced.

Xander smiled at the scene and shook his head, then turned to the house, readying to strike up a match. He stopped when he heard a faint keening. "Do you guys hear that?"

He cocked his head and moved along the side of the house, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. He drew close to the porch and then crouched near the ground, inspecting a small hole in the side of the wall, barely large enough for a hand to fit through, that opened to a small place underneath the house. The wall around it was grooved with claw marks.

Sam and Dean stopped what they were doing and crowded around Xander as he peered into the hole.

"Be careful," Sam cautioned. "There's no telling what could be in there."

Xander squinted into the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted he was just able to make out a small shape; it looked almost like— "I don't believe it!"

He reached his hand into the hole, ignoring Dean's protests that something could bite it off, and pulled out a small, furry mass that was trembling and covered in mud. "Spot!"

Xander looked up at the two older men with a huge grin. "He's alive! Avery must not have known he was hiding here." He turned back to the puppy, smoothing out its fur with his hand. "I guess sometimes it pays to be the runt."

"What is that?" Dean asked, barely able to recognize the dog for what it was with all the mud caked on it.

Xander stood, holding the dog protectively to his chest. "Avery and I picked him up from the grocery store in town. She said that Razor had eaten him, but he must have managed to get away and hide under the house. It's a good thing I found him when I did."

Dean didn't look nearly as enthused about their new addition as Xander did. "I guess we'll have to drop him off back at town."

"We can't do that," Sam corrected. "After we burn the house, we're going to have to get out of town as quickly as possible. It's risky enough as it is."

"Then we'll just leave him here," Dean amended.

Both Sam and Xander turned to Dean, faces appalled.

"We can't leave him here!" Xander said.

"What the hell are we going to do with a dog in the car?" Dean asked.

Dean looked between the two; they could have been twins from the identical expression they wore, sad-eyed and imploring. Even the dog was in on it.

In the face of three puppy-dog stares, including one from an actual puppy, even Dean couldn't say no. He sighed in resignation. "If he makes a mess in my car, you're both walking." He grabbed the matches out of Xander's other hand. "Now it's my turn for some stress-relief. Rinse that dog off some while I torch this sucker."

Xander turned the hose on Spot and did his best to get rid of the mud, spraying much more gently than either Sam or Xander had with Dean, meanwhile Dean lit the house up with a gleeful smirk.

Just as dawn was beginning to break across the sky, the three brothers, plus one Dalmatian puppy, piled into the black Impala. They hit the highway, leaving a burning house in their wake, and two hours later found themselves at the Sleep-Well Motel. Xander was already asleep, sprawled across the backseat with Spot dozing soundly on his stomach, curled up in one of Xander's old t-shirts.

Sam and Dean didn't even bother trying to wake him; between the two of them they managed to move him from the car to the motel bed, with Xander sleeping obliviously through the whole thing. Spot stirred as he was placed on the bed next to Xander, looked around blearily for a moment, then crawled back to his previous position on Xander's stomach, circled a few times, and finally curled up and went back to sleep.

Sam and Dean both collapsed onto the other bed, and within a few seconds everyone in the room was dead to the world.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean rose from the blackness of sleep with the patient slowness of a dawning sun, and with consciousness came a realization. There was a weight on his chest. It wasn't suffocating or unbearable, but it was noticeable. Even in the blurry moments between rest and wakefulness, Dean's hunter instincts were active and prepared, warning Dean to remain still and calm till more information could be gathered.

The weight on his chest shifted, inched closer toward where his head rested. Dean forced his breathing to remain steady and his muscles slack, careful not to give away his awakened state. Cautiously, he opened his eyes in narrow slits, just enough to peer down at the thing on his chest. It wasn't until that moment that Dean understood just how dire his situation was. He cursed his brothers, wherever they were now, for leaving him in a such a vulnerable state.

He tensed, prepared to move, but even as he did he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to stop what was about to happen. A wet tongue rasped across the bridge of his nose, leaving a wet, slobbery trail. Dean's face scrunched in disgust, and he pitched forward, causing the creature to slide back a few inches. "Damnit, you little mongrel!"

The creature, however, was not deterred and attacked Dean's face enthusiastically with puppy-kisses. His ears flopped about and his tail thumped rapidly on Dean's stomach.

Dean pushed gently at the puppy, wanting to dislodge it from his chest without harming it, but Spot was persistent and proved more than a match for Dean Winchester. It was then that the motel room door swung open and Xander and Sam were able to witness the spectacular battle being waged between hunter and puppy.

"Guess even Spot thinks you need a shower," Xander quipped.

Dean finally just grabbed the dog and held him out at arm's length. Even dangling as he was from Dean's hands and despite Dean's growling words, Spot's tail wagged and he craned his neck to continue licking at Dean's fingers. "Would you take this mutt of yours and get him off me," Dean said, giving Xander a pointed glare.

With a grin, Xander shuffled over to Dean's bed and plucked Spot out of his arms, cradling the puppy to his chest and petting him soothingly. "Don't worry, Spot. Dean didn't mean it."

"The hell I didn't," Dean muttered under his breath as he rolled out of bed and ran a hand over his face to wipe off the dog slobber. "I smell like dog-breath now."

"That might actually be an improvement," Sam threw in. He set a brown paper sack down on the night table and went about pulling out various items: hamburgers, fries, and a can of dog food. "We got lunch while we were out."

Sam popped open the can of dog food and set it on the floor before going to the bathroom to fill the motel room's ice bucket with water.

Xander placed Spot on the ground, and the puppy scampered toward the food.

Without Spot shielding Xander, Dean was able to see his brother's shirt, a gaudy, neon-green alien staring back at him with vacant black eyes, sporting the words "I was abducted. What's your excuse?"

Dean's face twisted in a disbelieving grimace. "You've got to be kidding me."

Xander looked at Dean's face, then down at his shirt, then back up again. "What?"

"We're hitting the laundromat after this. There's no way I'm going to be seen in public with you if you're wearing that shirt."

Xander heaved a frustrated sigh, throwing his arms up disgustedly and dropping them back down with a slap on his legs. "What is this? Harass-Xander Day?"

Sam came back out of the bathroom, putting the ice-bucket turned water-bowl in front of Spot, and Dean flicked a glance between the two, thinking his younger brothers must have had an argument while he'd been sleeping.

Xander saw his look and explained, "I forgot to call Willow last night, and she really let me have it this morning. My ears are _still_ ringing."

Put at ease that all was still well with his family, Dean turned his attention to more pressing matters. "Did you get one with extra onions?" he asked, brining one of the tissue-wrapped burgers to his nose.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately." He picked up one of the other burgers, swiped the one from Dean's hand, and replaced it with the other.

Dean sat down on one of the beds and tore into the burger with an appreciative moan, closing his eyes in blissful satisfaction. "This is fantastic," he said around a mouthful, bits of onion peeking out from under his lips.

"I think I understand now why Missouri gets so bent out of shape about talking with your mouth full," Xander said.

Dean opened his eyes to find his brothers staring at him with equally disgusted faces, their own hamburgers forgotten in their hands.

"Man, how can you eat that crap?" Sam asked.

Dean swallowed down the bite he'd been working on. "Don't knock it till you've tried it." And as if to prove a point, he took another huge bite, barely capable of fitting all of it in his mouth

Xander's lips curled upward. "That's just gross."

Dean stuck his tongue out at him, partially chewed food and all, and Xander tossed a French fry back.

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered something about brothers and maturity levels as he took a seat on the other bed. "I called Missouri and told her about the cleansing ritual we need to do for Xander, and she said she had most of the supplies and what she doesn't have, she can get by the time we'd get there. I think it'll be easier to just wait and do it there than to try and track down all the ingredients ourselves. Hopefully we won't run into anymore trouble between here and there. Oh, and by the way," Sam tagged on at the end, turning to Xander, "you can probably expect a lecture from Missouri when we get there about proper mystical protection or something."

Xander made an annoyed face, though with his mouth full of a food, cheeks puffed out, the expression came off looking more like an offended chipmunk than annoyed. "Wyd'I eben bovver geging ouda bed," he grumbled to himself around a mouthful of hamburger.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean commented to Sam. "But first things first, we do laundry. Xander may not know how to properly dress himself, but we can fix that." Dean smirked when Xander pulled the offended-chipmunk face again.

"Not everyone agrees with your fashion sense, Dean." The devious grin on Sam's face when he said that worried Dean a little. And Dean soon saw why as Sam gestured to the floor, pointing out the dog that was busy chewing on one of Dean's boots.

"Damnit! You little rat!" He lunged off the bed, swiping his boot up and tossing it onto the bed behind him while making a grab for Spot, who dodged and darted behind Sam's legs.

"Now, now," Sam scolded in a patronizing voice while effectively blocking Dean from getting at the puppy. "No violence in front of the children."

Dean glared up at Sam, who looked back down at him with a superior smirk. From behind Sam's legs, Spot stared back unrepentantly, panting and wagging his tail. Dean had a feeling that if dogs could blow raspberries, that's exactly what Spot would be doing right now.

Xander was of course laughing it up, spraying bits of hamburger everywhere.

Dean stood slowly, frowning first at the puppy then at his brothers. Damnit, _he_ was the oldest, and _he_ was the one that was supposed to do all the teasing. First the thing with the water hose yesterday and now this? Dean's frown melted into something more like resolve, a calculating look in his eyes. Payback was a bitch, and as far as Dean was concerned, his brothers had it coming. And like he'd said yesterday, they had no one to blame but themselves.

In a fit of pique, Dean huffed and sat back down. He began plotting while he continued eating his lunch, and by the time he'd finished off his burger, he felt he'd come up with an easy, yet worthy plan. He pulled on his boots, and when he'd finished tying the laces, he shot a resentful glance at Spot – only to find that the puppy had moved on to one of his t-shirts.

"Son of a-" A chase ensued, and eventually Xander got up to help Dean (or possibly Spot, Dean wasn't really sure), which somehow digressed into a wrestling match between youngest and oldest brother while Sam stood by with his hands on his hips, sighing and rolling his eyes and muttering about the benefits of being an only child.

Dean bested Xander fairly quickly, and, deciding that just wouldn't do if Xander had any intention of hunting, he gave Xander an impromptu lesson on some of the more useful self-defense moves that he knew. Xander caught on quick, and as they readied to leave, Dean couldn't help a slight, proud grin.

Or maybe that grin had more to do with the upcoming mischief that Dean was planning.

* * *

Benji's Laundromat was near the tail end of Main Street, nestled between Harvey's Pawn Shop and Frank's Classic Antiques. The owners in question – Benji, Harvey, and Frank – were all men in their late sixties and were seated around a small picnic table in front of the laundromat when Sam and his brothers arrived. Each nursed a glass of iced tea, and a chessboard was laid out on the table between Benji and Harvey. Frank sat between the two, nearest the building and facing the street, and between sips of tea he offered (unwanted and mostly ignored) advice to both players, depending on whose turn it was.

"I'm telling you, Benji, you need to move that bishop," Frank was advising as Sam, Dean, and Xander climbed out of the Impala with their laundry bags and Spot in tow.

"Yeah, Benji," Harvey joined in, smirking, "why don't you move that bishop?"

"Don't encourage him, you old fool," Benji scolded Harvey, deliberately moving one of his knights instead.

"Ooo! Block him with that one right there, Harvey," Frank jumped in again, gesturing to one of the black chess pieces.

Harvey's previous smirk flipped to an annoyed frown. "Damnit, Frank. How many times do I have to tell you that the pawns can't move like that!"

Frank didn't pay him any attention, though. He had just spotted Sam and the others, and he perked up with interest, waving at the newcomers excitedly. "Howdy, boys!"

"Howdy?" Benji cut in with a quizzical look at his friend. "What are you now? A Texan?"

"Did you come to buy some antiques?" Frank continued on, ignoring his friend's jibes.

"Um…" Sam started, a little thrown off by the man's friendly enthusiasm. "Actually, we just came to wash some clothes."

"Oh." Frank's face fell a little, enthusiasm deflating. "Hmph. Well. My mistake."

Sam almost felt a little guilty for having gotten the man's hopes up and was about to apologize when one of the other men cut in.

"Do you have to try to peddle your dilapidated wares to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that has the misfortune to pass by?" Harvey asked, rolling his eyes and finally sliding one of his rooks to another square."

"I do not try to sell things to _every_ Tom, Dick, and Harry, my wares are not dilapidated," Harvey interrupted with a derisive snort here, but Frank continued on, "and, besides, they looked like the type."

"What?" Harvey exclaimed like he thought Frank was making things up.

They both looked toward the three young men with critical eyes, and the brothers froze like deer in headlights, a little worried about what type they were or weren't being cast as.

"They do not," Harvey said finally, turning back to Frank.

"Oh, what do you know?" Frank argued. "Benji, tell him they look like antiquers."

"Oh, no," Benji protested. "You're not putting me in the middle of another one of your arguments. I swear, you two could disagree on the color of the sky so long as it would give you something to argue about."

Spot, who up till this point had been a passive observer watching the goings on from the crook of Xander's arm, gave a sharp, playful bark as if voicing his agreement.

Benji glanced over his shoulder at the dog and greeted, "Well, hello there little fella." Turning back to his friends, he said, "See. Even the dog thinks you two are a couple of loons." He turned his attention back to the game, moved one of his pawns, and leaned back in his chair, adding with a casual air, "By the way…checkmate."

Harvey looked down at the chessboard with a start, shock registering on his features. "What? Damnit!" He turned a glare on Frank.

"Well, don't look at me," Frank defended. "I don't know anything about checkers."

"Oh for God's sake," Harvey yelled, looking heavenward as if he might actually get some divine help. "We're playing chess, Frank – chess! Not checkers."

Benji turned aside to Sam, thumbing in the direction of the laundromat and advising with knowing tone, "You boys better get on inside before you get dragged into the fray. Trust me, it ain't pretty."

Sam got the feeling that Benji was accustomed to playing the role of referee – or at the very least, frustrated onlooker – when it came to the other two men. Thinking of Xander and Dean's recent childish antics, not unlike Frank and Harvey's, Sam thought he could commiserate with the old man.

"…we'll flip on it…" the argument continued in the background.

Sam and Benji shared a grin before the old man winked at him and jumped back between the ongoing argument with, "The last time I gave you two a quarter to settle an argument with, I never got my money back. You'll both just have to agree that chess is chess and checkers are checkers."

"Fine," the other two men huffed in unison.

Chuckling to himself, Sam motioned his brothers toward the laundromat, herding them through the door quickly before they got embroiled in another argument or were pegged as the _pawn shop type_.

Upon entering the establishment, the first thing Dean said was, "Sweet! They have a pool table! Hey, Xander, do you know how to play pool?"

"Of course," Xander said immediately. Then after further consideration, he added, "Well, I mean, I've _played_." Cough. "Once or twice."

Dean shook his head in dismay. "That won't do." Grabbing Xander's bag off his shoulder, he nodded his head toward the back of the laundromat where the pool table was situated and said, "You go get us set up. I'll put our clothes on to wash."

Xander moved off toward the back, carrying Spot with him, and Dean turned, reaching for one of Sam's bags, the one containing his laundry. Sam didn't let his bag go as easily as Xander had, though.

Dean looked up at Sam when his tugging didn't yield any results. "You go ahead, I'll get this."

Sam eyed his brother strangely, wondering where this domestic turn had come from. "Since when are you so head-up about laundry?"

Dean gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look. "What? I can't just do something helpful once in a while?"

That response left Sam feeling more than a little uneasy for some reason, and he returned disbelievingly, "Uh huh."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I just thought you said you wanted to get started on the translation for that spell." His tone held an underlying current that said _Seriously, why are you making such a big deal out of this?_

Sam considered the notes in his other bag and studied Dean, whose expression didn't _seem_ to hint at any underlying motive. Something in Dean's demeanor still set Sam off, but he couldn't place exactly what it was that had him on edge; still, he relinquished his hold on the bag, shaking his head and adding, "All right. Thanks."

Dean flashed him a quick grin and took the bag, moving off toward a row of washers.

Sam wandered toward the back, claiming a row of three, bright-orange, leather-upholstered, cushion-seat chairs that were against the wall near the pool table, where Xander was currently getting things set up. Tossing his bag down in one the chairs, Sam sat in the next seat over and began pulling out the notes Xander's friend had given them for the cleansing ritual, readying to translate the incantation into Latin.

Xander had set Spot on the floor, and the dog scampered up to Sam, raising up on his hind legs and pawing at Sam's knees with his front legs. Sam's lips quirked in a smile and he petted Spot's head for a moment, the dog's tail waving back and forth through the air; then Sam pulled out a pen and turned his attention to translating.

Spot quickly lost interest and trotted off, finding more entertainment in pouncing after a stray cricket that he'd found.

Sam glanced up from his translating only briefly when Dean came up seconds later, rubbing his hands together like he had a lot of money riding on the game he and Xander were about to play. Sam continued writing down Latin words in his father's journal, vaguely listening to Xander and Dean in the background.

"Okay. I break first."

"Why?" Xander complained.

"Because I'm older," Dean answered, picking up one of the pool cues. He sank two solids on the break. Favoring Xander with a smug grin (to which Xander met with a glare), Dean moved around the table, getting ready to line up his next shot, but before he could, he stumbled, bumping into the pool table with his hip and only barely managing to remain upright.

Sam looked up from his notes in curious confusion and laughed at what he saw. Apparently Spot had tired of the cricket and was currently finding more amusement in Dean's jeans. The dog was dangling from the pant-leg cuff of Dean's upraised leg, growling and tugging and jerking for all he was worth, hind legs barely touching the floor.

"Damn you, you little mongrel," Dean cussed at him. "Xander, would you get your mutt off of me?"

Xander gave Dean a _serves you right_ look but complied, reaching down to pick Spot up. It took a few tries to get the puppy to let go of his latest chew toy, but eventually Xander managed, bringing the dog in close to his chest. In turn, Spot wriggled and climbed his way up Xander's front in an attempt to lick at the young man's face. "You know, maybe if you weren't always calling him names all the time, he wouldn't chew on all of your stuff. If you keep calling him things like mongrel and mutt, he's going to think _that's_ his name."

Dean grimaced. "Better than _Spot_, anyway. What kind of name is that? Other than an incredibly obvious one."

Xander frowned but didn't look otherwise offended at the slight to his naming abilities. "You know, maybe you're right."

Dean looked surprised at the easy agreement. "I am?"

"Yeah," Xander continued. "I mean, _Avery_ liked the name, and she was a _demon_, so what does that say about it? Plus, that whole thing was probably a traumatic experience for the poor little guy. We should give him a new name so he won't be reminded of it."

Dean made a face like he found the whole thing silly, _a dog was a dog by any name_, but gave his own opinion anyway. "Just don't make it something like Rover or Sparky."

Dean leaned over the table, lined up another shot, and sank another solid with ease. He was lining up his next shot when Xander interrupted him.

"Chester," the younger man mused aloud.

"Huh?" Dean glanced up at him.

Xander cleared his throat nervously like he hadn't really meant to say that out loud. "Um, we could call him Chester. You know…like…short for Winchester."

Sam stilled, looking up, and Dean glanced over at him. It was the simple naming of a pet, but suddenly it seemed much more weighted than that, like a petition to accept the puppy into the Winchester family – and maybe even someone else in addition to the dog.

Years of hunting together had made Sam an expert at reading Dean, and it only took a few seconds to gauge Dean's opinion on the matter. Sam answered for the both of them, "I'd say that sounds like a solid name."

Dean nodded his agreement.

"Chester it is," Xander stated with a grin, holding the dog out and looking him over as if expecting the new name to have changed the dog's appearance in some way. He set the dog back on the floor, giving him a vigorous rub on the back before returning his attention to the game at hand.

Seemingly worn out, Spot abandoned his efforts to chew a new hole in Dean's jeans and wandered over to Sam, curling up next to his feet. He stretched his mouth open in a wide yawn, rested his head on the toe of Sam's boot, and then shut his eyes, drifting easily into sleep. Sam rather envied him.

Despite having been thrown off balance by the newly-christened Chester, Dean still managed to sink another two solids before his next shot proved not enough to sink a sixth. He straightened, studying the layout, no taunting smile this time, and moved to stand next to Xander, who was alternating between glaring at Dean and staring at the table in dismay.

"Okay, most of mine are out of the way now," Dean said. "Let's see what you can do. Which shot are you going to take?"

Xander gave Dean a sidelong glance, like he was trying to decide whether or not the older man was honest about his offer to help or if he was just teasing Xander. Apparently deciding he was being sincere, Xander said, "I was thinking of going for the fourteen."

Dean nodded consideringly. "Okay."

Sam divided his attention between translating and watching his brothers play. Dean advised Xander to adjust his aim a little to the left, and then Xander took the shot, sending the cue ball down the length of the table and knocking the fourteen ball into the corner pocket. Unfortunately, the cue ball followed right after it.

Once the white ball finished rolling back down to the slot at the end of the table, Dean pulled it back out, carefully set it on the table, and gestured at Xander to have another go.

"But-" Xander protested only to have Dean wave him off.

"Don't worry about turns. Do the same thing as before with the ten, only this time hit a little lower on the cue ball."

Xander set up the shot, not needing any help with the aim this time, and did as Dean had instructed. The shot went the same as before, sinking the ten, only this time the cue ball stopped immediately after hitting the other ball.

They continued on like that, Dean and Xander exchanging shots, interspersed with advice from Dean. Eventually they got to more difficult plays: bank shots, jump shots, curve shots. Xander picked it all up rather quickly.

Despite Dean's initial attitude of keeping Xander at arm's length, the older man was steadily working on teaching Xander everything he needed to know in order to fit in with the Winchester lifestyle. He'd already given Xander tips on talking to women, he had brushed up on some of Xander's fighting techniques, right now he was teaching him the fine art of hustling pool, and next he'd probably be instructing him in the ways of credit card scams. Sam didn't think the older man realized it, but Dean really seemed to be taking Xander under his wing.

As Sam continued writing, eventually his curiosity got the best of him, and he had to ask, "Hey, Xander, where did your friend find this spell?"

Xander finished his shot, pocketing the eight ball with ease, then answered, "Probably from one of Giles's one thousand and one books of demons, magic, and assorted ooglie booglies."

That only seemed to raise more questions for Sam. "How did you even find out about this stuff? I mean, I know you said you grew up on the Hellmouth, but it's not exactly common knowledge."

"Yeah, I didn't actually learn about the darkside until my sophomore year of high school. My first close encounter with vampires was when my best friend Jesse was turned into one."

Sam and Dean both grimaced in sympathy; the death of a friend or loved one always made for a shitty introduction to the demonic underbelly of the world. Sam and Dean knew that better than anyone.

They were quiet till something Xander said finally caught up with Dean. "Wait a second, vampires are _real_?"

Xander's eyes widened in surprise, his expression clearly stating something along the lines of _duh_. "And how long have _you guys_ been hunting demons?"

"We've been doing this since we were kids, but we've never seen any vampires." Sam confessed, a little put off by what appeared to be a glaring omission in their hunting knowledge.

"Yeah, well, vampires are definitely real. Also, my friend Buffy, she's the slayer, and Giles, he's her watcher, hence the thousand and one demon books."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, holding up his hands to halt him. "She's the who and he's a what?"

Sam answered for him, "The slayer, also short for vampire slayer which is why I thought she was, like the vampires, just a myth, is a girl blessed with superhuman powers and charged with protecting the world from demons and the like. And the watcher is the one who trains her, right?"

Xander nodded, and Sam added, "Guess I was wrong about slayers and vampires being myths."

"Wait, so you knew about that too?" Dean asked incredulously, fixing Sam with a peevish glare. "Why do I never know about this stuff?!"

"Well, you know, Dean, if you cracked a book once in a while, you might actually learn something," Sam commented helpfully.

"Hey, I read," Dean defended.

Sam gave a put-upon sigh. "Dean, the articles in Playboy don't count."

A reminiscent grin lit Dean's face, no doubt memories of pictures past. "Hey, there's some valuable information in there."

Sam snorted.

Carrying on in the same line of questioning, Xander said, "So you guys have been hunting since you were kids? How'd that happen?"

Sam paused in his writing, giving Xander his full attention. Dean abandoned lining up the shot he was about to take, straightened up, and rested the butt of the pool cue on the floor, leaning slightly on the stick.

"Something got to our mom," Dean said quietly, nodding his head toward Sam, "back when we were really little. Dad looked into some stuff, found out about what really goes bump in the night, and we've been looking for the thing ever since, killing anything else we come across while we're at it."

"What was it that got her?" Xander asked carefully.

Sam sighed. "We don't know. But whatever it was…it got Jess, too." Even after all these months, even a passing thought of Jess still packed a solid punch to the gut. Sam delved back into the translations, hoping to shove the memory back down with foreign words and phrases.

Dean went to move the clothes from washers to dryers, and when he came back, gleeful interest lighting up his face, he swung the conversation back around with, "I want to hear more about blowing up your school."

Trust Dean to fixate on the pyrotechnics, Sam thought in aggravation. "Dean, you really shouldn't encourage that sort of thing."

"Oh, come on, Sam. You're just being pissy because it was a _school_."

"Actually, it has more to do with Xander getting arrested for arson," Sam said, trying to remain the voice of reason.

"Well, it was for a good cause," Xander interjected. "The mayor became a giant snake demon. We were going to go with the volcano defense, but someone had already done that one. Never let it be said that we aren't original. Plan B was a humus offensive." At the crazy looks that got him, he added, "Which of course was why it was the _fallback_ plan."

Dean shook head. "And we thought _we_ ran into a bunch of crazy crap."

"You think _that's_ bad," Xander said, with a wild, knowing look in his eyes that promised this was about to get even wackier, "you should be there when the Hellmouth actually opens."

Sam's eyes widened, eyebrows going up in alarm. "I thought that wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well, obviously it's not something you _want_ to happen, but it can and does on occasion. Demons are really persistent about implementing that whole hell-on-earth thing. Guess they're just wacky like that. It started with The Master," Xander said, deciding to give his brothers a quick rundown on life atop the Hellmouth. "He was a really old vampire stuck underground, so for the most part he wasn't that bad, but just before the Spring Fling he broke lose and opened the Hellmouth. And can I just say there are some really ugly demons in Hell? This big, three-headed thing with tentacles and, well, let's just say it made Avery look like a fairy princess. Anyway, Buffy dusted The Master and closed the Hellmouth, thus leading to some saved-the-world celebrating at the Spring Fling.

"Then our junior year, Spike and Drusilla showed up – think Bonnie and Clyde, but with fangs. They were both vampires too. But then things got really bad when Angel went evil – also a vampire, but he was a good vampire up till that point…if you can ever call a vampire good. Instead of trying to unleash Hell on Earth, he took the road less traveled and tried to suck Earth _into_ Hell, slight implementation variation, same basic hellish outcome."

By now, Sam and Dean were following along with consternated expressions, very little making sense and most of it going straight over their heads. They shared a couple of glances that seemed to say '_are you hearing the same thing I am?_' and just generally tried to keep up.

"In the end, Buffy saved the day and Angel was the only one sucked into Hell, where he stayed till he came back the next year. Which brings us to my senior year of high school: a year full of zombies, high school bullies, hellhounds at the prom, a demonic politician, a slayer-turned-bad, and a needy ex-vengeance demon – not to mention a vicious ex-girlfriend, but I like to think we parted on good terms. After all, you know what they say: relationships forged in the heat of battle last forever. Or always fall apart, I can't remember which."

"Wait a second," Sam said, his mind trying to catch up with Xander's diatribe. "Did you say that your slayer friend, Buffy, turned bad?"

"No, not her, the other slayer, Faith. She went on a killing spree, and Buffy ended up putting her in a coma after she tried to kill Angel."

"So the theory that there can be only one at a time is just a myth?" Sam asked, not even bothering with trying to sort out what role the vampire Angel played in the whole thing.

"No, see, Buffy died our sophomore year. She drowned, I did CPR, and she came back. But apparently a temporary case of deadness was enough to trigger the next slayer, so Kendra was called. Then Drusilla killed Kendra, and Faith was called. Faith accidentally killed some guy, decided being bad was more fun, and went to work for the Mayor."

"Who was a demon," Sam pitched in, thinking he was finally catching on.

"Who _became_ a demon," Xander corrected. "And not just any old demon, a pure demon. Which apparently meant becoming a snakelike creature the size of Moby Dick right in the middle of our commencement speech. Long story short, we blew him up. And that brings you up to date."

By now both Sam and Dean had given up on trying to make any sort of sense out of the craziness that was Xander's life. They stared at him with half-bewildered, half-horrified expressions.

"Dude, tell me again why it is you live in that town?" Dean asked.

Xander blinked in confusion. "Where else would I go?"

Dean floundered in astonishment and exclaimed, "_Anywhere_ but there?"

"Sunnydale has its good points too," Xander shot back.

"Such as?" Dean asked pointedly, clearly expecting some elaboration.

"Well, it's…near the beach." Xander sighed and added resignedly, "Which, admittedly, is filled with sea monsters. Also the reason why I now shun team sports. Nothing like seeing your fellow teammates turn into Creatures from the Hellmouth Lagoon to make you dislike swimming. Needless to say, our school didn't win the championship that year."

It was too much to process. That last detail was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Sam and Dean just stared at him with blank, uncomprehending faces.

Xander cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, I'm sure you guys have just as many crazy stories."

They both continued to stare at him a beat longer, then, thinking about some of the more well-known spirits they'd laid to rest, Sam said, "We ran into the Hook Man."

"Yeah, and Bloody Mary," Dean added helpfully.

"_The_ Bloody Mary?" Xander asked, something like fear tingeing his voice. "You're saying she's real?"

Dean nodded. "You look in the mirror and say her name three times, and she shows up and basically makes your eyes explode."

Xander grimaced in disgust and fright. "So say some misguided individual, on a dare, said her name in front of a mirror twelve years ago at Benny Blake's birthday party…would, uh…would they still be in danger now?"

Sam grinned. "Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but I'm fairly certain that if the misguided individual has made it this far, he's probably in the clear."

"Not to mention we wasted that spirit," Dean concluded.

"Good to know," Xander said, looking relieved.

"There was also a woman in white that tried to rip Sam's heart out." Dean grinned cheekily at Sam.

Fielding his brother's glib look, Sam returned with a cheeky grin of his own, "And Dean faced his fear of airplanes."

"Man, why do you have to bring that one up?" Dean exclaimed, still not over the trauma.

Sam filled in the details for Xander, who hadn't been there. "We were hunting a phantom traveler, a demon who had possessed the body of a pilot and tried to crash the plane we were on at the time."

"I was possessed once by an evil hyena spirit," Xander chimed in.

Dean's face contorted in disbelief. "Man, now you're just making shit up."

A buzzer went off amidst Sam's laughter, and Dean looked back toward the dryers. Turning around with a cheerful grin and placing his cue back on the table, he said, "Looks like the clothes are done. You two go get folding, and I'll grab Spot."

Sam began packing away his notes and the finished translation while Dean scooped up the puppy in his arms. Eyeing his brother strangely as Dean once again did the opposite of what he'd expected, Sam asked, "Since when are you two bosom buddies?"

"Well, I figure it's only right if he's going to be a Winchester that we have a little bonding time," Dean said with a saccharine smile that only made Sam's frown deepen. Chester had started to stir by now and was climbing his way up Dean's chest, nearly on top of Dean's shoulder. "Besides," Dean paused, jerking his head to the side as Chester stuck a cold, wet nose in his ear. Flipping the dog round so that his paws were facing away from him, Dean continued, "I did the washing and drying, you guys get to do the folding."

It figured that Dean would stick them with the more tedious task, Sam thought. Sam handed his bag off to Dean, who shouldered it and followed Sam as he made his way toward the row of dryers.

Pulling out the warm clothes, Sam dumped them on a nearby table. As he started riffling through them, he noticed a startling trend. Whirling on his brother with a panicked expression, he shouted, "Dean! You turned all of our white clothes _pink_!"

Dean was completely untouched by his alarm, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his face. "No, I turned all of yours and Xander's clothes pink."

"_What_?" Xander squawked, coming behind Sam and digging frantically through the pile for his own clothes.

"Oh, what are you complaining about? It's probably an improvement in your case."

The dirty look Xander gave Dean suggested that he didn't find that to be the least bit funny.

Sam made like he was going to go after Dean, but Dean held Chester up in front of him, deliberately hiding behind an innocent face. "Ah, ah. We wouldn't want any violence in front of the children."

Sam looked at Chester, then at Dean, and then back at Chester again. He managed to restrain himself, but it was a near thing. Instead he said, "I hope he pees on you."

Laughter was Dean's only response, and Sam pursed his lips into a thin line and glared back, trying to muster up what little dignity he could while holding a pair of pink boxers.

When his laughter tapered off, Dean tucked Chester in close to his chest, rubbing a playful hand over the dog's head. Chester responded in kind, licking Dean's fingers and wagging his tail. "C'mon, Chester. Let's take you outside and leave these boys to their misery." He flashed them one last grin before turning and heading for the exit, chuckling the whole way.

"Man, you're a _jerk_," Sam called after him. He watched the older man go with no small amount of resentment. This prank crap was so immature, and it was always Dean who started it. Like being the older brother afforded him God-given rights to mercilessly tease his younger brother – _brothers_, now. Just once, he'd like to really stick it to Dean good.

Sam turned to Xander and, seeing the same feelings mirrored there, began to form a plan. Apparently it had never occurred to Dean that he was outnumbered now. Two against one were not great odds for the older man. A smile slowly began to appear on Sam's face, his eyes glinting with mischievous intent. If they wanted, they could make Dean really regret this.

Xander seemed to catch on to where Sam's thoughts were going and replied with a devious smile of his own that seemed to say _let the prank-war begin_. And Sam couldn't agree more.

* * *

A/N: No offence intended to anyone with dogs named Spot, Sparky, or Rover. The Muse just said, "We're calling him Chester." And since she has a tendency to beat me up when I disagree, I said, "Okay."


	18. Chapter 18

It was late afternoon by the time the brothers loaded up the Impala – pink laundry and all – and left another sleepy town in their wake. The first half-hour was filled with Dean's gloating, secure in his rank of Prank Master, while the two younger brothers offered up token complaints about the new shade of their clothing and shared glances that held the promise of retaliation. Eventually the conversation lulled, leaving them in a surprisingly comfortable silence broken only when Dean popped one of his favorites tapes into the tape deck.

Xander stared out the backseat window, watching American landscapes blur past, content to relax and just listen to the music as the miles rolled by. He had to admit that Dean's musical taste was starting to grow on him a little. A couple of the songs were developing a familiarity, and Xander even found himself humming along at times. It was hard to believe that they had first met less than a week ago. Xander felt almost as comfortable with them as he did hanging out with Buffy and Willow. Slouched down in the Impala's backseat, with Chester sprawled alongside and chewing absently on the edge of his shirttail, Xander felt like he belonged there.

Maybe demon-slaying really did have a way of bringing people closer together. And how wild of a coincidence was that? Xander had traveled so far to seek out some distant relations and then to find that they knew about demons, too, hunted them even. It was almost like fate. After spending years feeling like an outcast in his own home, it was nice to finally have some family that he had something in common with and – if he wasn't misreading things – might actually _want him there_.

Allowing his emotions to show on his face, Xander favored Chester with a loopy smile and patted him on the back. Chester, easily distracted, tried to tackle his hand which only caused him to tumble headfirst into Xander's lap. The pup continued crawling over Xander's legs, letting his curiosity lead him to the window. He was just barely big enough to stand on his hind legs and peer out, but Xander lifted him up a few more inches to get a better view.

"Checking out the next town?" Xander asked the dog rhetorically, glancing out the window himself. They had been on the road for only three hours, but they had left late enough that dusk was already fast approaching. The town's streetlights were already flickering on in places and the neon 'vacancy' sign of a motel glowed brightly up ahead.

Xander was just as surprised as Sam when they pulled into the motel's parking lot.

"We're stopping already?" Sam queried.

Wanting to be more involved in the conversation, Xander leaned over the seat, squeezing in between Sam and Dean just as Dean threw the car into park and looked over at the both of them with a sly grin.

"Looks like the kind of town that would have a bar somewhere," Dean observed. "Figured we could test out Xander's new pool skills and hustle us up some more cash."

"Dean," Sam started, and Xander turned to look at him when he heard the ire in his voice. "Do you really think it's necessary to start teaching Xander all of your bad habits?"

"What do you mean, 'bad habits'?" Dean asked, offended, causing Xander's gaze to swing left. "It's just a – what do you call it? – a rite of passage."

Xander glanced right again as Sam threw out another retort, "And what's next? Credit card fraud?"

"Easy, Sammy, you have work up to these things," Dean stated, as if Sam had voiced an honest suggestion. "Can't go dumping everything on him at once."

By now Xander was beginning to feel like a spectator at a ping pong match. Half of him really wanted to go out with Dean and try his hand at hustling while the other half was worried about disappointing Sam. He really didn't want to be caught in the middle. Even worse, what if he did go with Dean and it turned out that he wasn't nearly as skilled at pool at Dean seemed to think he was.

"You know, Dean, just because you have an aversion to making an honest living doesn't necessarily mean that the rest of us—"

"It doesn't hurt to have a few extra skills just in case Xander finds himself in a tight pinch and—"

"Right, because hustling in bars and petty theft can really improve even the worst situations—"

"It might! Even you have to agree that it's always good to have a fallback plan."

"Sure, but I don't think—"

"I'll go get the room key," Dean stated, bolting from the car before Sam could finish his argument.

Sam sighed heavily and turned to Xander with an imploring look that the younger man wasn't quite sure how to interpret. Xander shrugged and put on his most 'I'm innocent' expression. From the look that crossed Sam's face, Xander figured he bought that innocent expression about as much as Willow would have.

"Dean will drag you into a whole heap of trouble if you let him; believe me, I know," Sam said, appealing to his common sense.

But unfortunately, Xander's common sense was always hit or miss, and he really kind of wanted to see if his skills could hold up next to Dean's. He did have an idea, though, on how to make this all seem a little more appealing to Sam. "On the other hand, if Dean and I are out somewhere, you'd probably have to stay here at the motel and keep an eye on Chester…and Dean's _stuff_," Xander put emphasis on the last bit. "I'm sure he wouldn't want anything to happen to his _clothes_ while he's out."

Sam, always a quick study, caught on immediately. "We can't go for the clothes, though, it's too obvious. It's got to be something new…and something that will _really_ get Dean this time."

Xander was almost a little worried by the evil gleam in Sam's eyes. He was glad the intelligent man was on his side because he never wanted to know what it would be like on the receiving end of that, especially when Sam's mouth slid into a downright malicious grin.

"I've got an idea," Sam said brightly, that evil gleam in his eyes kicking up a notch.

This was a new side of Sam, Xander thought, eyeing him apprehensively. "Do I even want to know?" Their revenge would be short-lived if Dean ended up killing them over this.

"Actually, it's probably best if you don't. Dean's like a dog with a bone; if he suspects something's up, he'll pry it out of you before the night is over."

Xander decided not to take offense since he suspected Sam's response had more to do with Dean's stubborn tendencies than any lack of faith in Xander's ability to keep a secret, and Xander rather agreed with the sentiment. Under Dean's scrutiny, Xander wasn't sure he wouldn't crack like a walnut at the first sign of pressure.

Chester's yelping at the window alerted them to Dean's return, and after sharing a quick, knowing look with Sam, Xander slouched back in his seat, doing his best to appear casual.

Dean opened the car door and dropped into the seat, pulling the car around closer to their room and giving Sam a resolved look that Xander thought would have done Willow proud. "Now look, you can sulk all you want, but we're—"

"You guys go ahead," Sam cut in. "I figure without you stuck in the room bitching about how bored you are, I might actually be able to finish the translation for that spell."

Dean's mouth gaped open for a second longer, obviously not having expected to win so easily. Then he snapped his mouth closed, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I thought you finished that already."

Dean cut a glance back at Xander, and the younger man had to fight not to squirm in his seat, thinking that Sam must have jumped the gun and tipped Dean off.

"We're dealing with magic, Dean. It never hurts to be thorough." Sam sounded so exasperated with Dean that, had he not known better, Xander would have bought Sam's explanation.

"All work and no play makes Sammy a dull boy," Dean chided with a roll of his eyes, apparently used to Sam's bookish tendencies. "You should come have a couple of beers with us."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Sam said dryly, making it sound like it was the most unappealing activity he could imagine. "Besides, someone should stay behind and watch Chester."

Dean scoffed. "It's not like he's going to take over the world while we're not looking. Can't we just shut him in the bathroom?"

"Dean!" Sam put so much indignation in that one word that even Xander found himself wanting to hide his head in shame.

Dean just shrugged it off, though. "Fine, fine. Have it your way."

Dean put the car in park again, and Xander got out, carrying Chester in one arm and his bag in the other. They unloaded all their stuff into the motel room without any further protestations or suspicious questions, and then Dean gave Sam a 'see you later' and led Xander out the door.

Xander, foolishly thinking that Dean was none the wiser, gave Sam a thumbs up before trailing out after Dean, but as soon as they were closed up in the Impala again, Xander filling Sam's seat this time, Dean pinned him with a piercing look. "So, Sammy's planning something, isn't he?"

"_What_? No! What?" _Smooth, Xander, real smooth,_ he thought. He laughed like Dean had asked the most absurd question ever, trying to play it off. "There's nothing at all going on." Then added slyly, hoping to confuse Dean just a little more, "But if there were, I wouldn't tell you, would I?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, like he was puzzling out whether Xander was trying to cover up that something was going on or if there was really _nothing_ going on and he was just pulling Dean's leg by trying to make him _think_ there was. Dean didn't look particularly convinced either way, but answered with a noncommittal, "Uh huh," before starting the car.

They pulled out of the parking lot, and Xander relaxed a little in his seat, holding in a relieved sigh that the crisis had been averted. At least for now.

The bar they ended up at was a lot like the first dive Dean had taken him to, and Xander hoped he didn't end up getting ditched this time like he had last time. The moment they hit the door, Dean was all smiles, completely in his element, and Xander couldn't help but envy that kind of ease. Even at the Bronze, among friends and familiar surroundings, Xander could never seem to pull off that kind of self-assurance, and he found himself starting to seriously doubt this plan.

Xander moved in closer to Dean to be heard over the noise and asked, "Are you really sure I can do this?" He hated the insecurity in his voice, but, really, it wasn't like he played pool all that often and never for money.

Dean had already been scanning the room, but at Xander's question he turned back, wearing a widespread, devilish grin. "Of course you can. It's going to be as easy as taking candy from a baby." Dean stated it with such matter-of-fact confidence that Xander had no trouble believing him, and when Dean nodded his head toward a table in the far corner, Xander just grinned and followed.

They made it to the back of the room just as one of the games finished, the two victors crowing loudly.

"Woo! Yeah, take that!" One of the winners, a blond-haired man, shouted. He wore a light-blue, grease-stained mechanic's uniform that had the name Trevor stitched below the right shoulder. "Double or nothing, what do you say?"

One of the losers scoffed in response. "Hell no. I'm going home before I don't have any money left in my pockets."

"Yeah, when my wife asks where all my cash went, you know I'm going to blame you two, right?" the other loser said, tone mock-scolding.

The other winner, the quieter of the two, in jeans, t-shirt, and a baseball cap that hid shockingly red hair which was trying peek out from beneath, shot back with, "Like you two weren't in here just yesterday trying to take us for all we were worth." Amusement laced the words, and he wore the kind of smile that seemed to say _it's all good_.

They all laughed good-naturedly, and it was obvious the four men were friends and would likely be doing the very same thing again tomorrow night.

The two losers waved goodnight before wandering away, and Trevor called out, "Well, the night's still young, somebody's got to step up. Come on, any takers?" His eyes glanced around briefly before landing on Dean and Xander. "What about you two? Think you can take us?" he asked with a cocky grin.

"I don't know," Dean hedged. "My little brother," he hooked a thumb in Xander's direction, and Xander had to really fight against the wide grin that threatened to take over his face when he heard Dean call him 'brother' out loud, "he's sort of a beginner, you know?"

"Come on," Trevor wheedled. "Just twenty bucks each. We might even be persuaded to knock it down to ten if twenty is just too expensive for your tastes."

"Well…" Dean trailed, turning toward Xander as if he had to give the stakes some serious consideration. He turned back with a complacent shrug. "Twenty'll be fine."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Trevor cheered gleefully, glad to have new prospects. "We'll even let you guys break first."

The red head, who introduced himself as Cody, gave them an amiable smile and moved toward the end of the table to begin racking. Both of the men looked a little older than Xander and Dean by probably ten or fifteen years, and Xander took comfort in the fact that neither looked anywhere near as intimidating as the burly biker guy Dean had played against a few nights back. They didn't particularly seem the type to be sore losers either, which Xander was really hoping would end up being the case. Assuming they won, which he was also fervently hoping for.

The four men each coughed up a twenty dollar bill, and then Dean picked out his cue and lined up his first shot. He sank a stripe on the break and managed to sink another before missing his third shot. Trevor went next, also sinking two solids and just barely missing the third, and then it was Xander's turn.

The plan was that Xander would do badly the first two games and then clean up on the third, the first half of the plan seeming a hell of a lot easier than the last half. After all, Xander thought, how difficult could it be to screw up? Xander found, however, as he was lining up his first shot that 'losing' was more difficult than it seemed. Instinct had him wanting to play to the best of his abilities, and he had to remind himself to make his aim wide. He was actually fairly confident that he could make this shot if he had wanted, but instead he just clipped the ball he was aiming for and sent it rolling in a direction that was not even remotely near one of the pockets. The embarrassed grimace that accompanied the shot wasn't nearly as difficult to fake.

Cody went next, sinking three solids before passing the turn to Dean. Xander watched as his older brother sank another three stripes, making it seem effortless. He felt a twinge of nervousness but reminded himself that everything was going as planned. When Dean missed his fourth shot, Trevor stepped up again and sank the last two stripes but didn't manage to sink the eight ball.

Xander lined his next shot up carefully, setting the aim just as he would if he had intended to make the shot, but hit the cue ball with less intensity than he knew he would need. The cue ball hit the nine and sent it toward the corner pocket in a slow crawl. Just as he'd hoped, the nine stopped just inches shy of tumbling in.

Xander feigned a sigh, and Dean clapped him on the back, saying, "Don't worry, man. You're just warming up."

Cody had the decency to give him a sympathetic smile before calling side-pocket and sinking the eight ball.

Trevor gave them a victorious, but tempered grin and asked, "Have another go?"

Dean glanced at Xander, then nodded, digging another twenty out of his wallet. "Sure, man. Your luck's bound to run out sooner or later."

After digging out a twenty of his, Xander moved to the end of the table and racked the balls as Trevor replied, "Luck ain't got nothin' to do with it, man."

The second game went even worse than the first, by appearances at least. Cody pocketed a stripe on the break, switching the sides up, and then sank a second stripe.

Xander eyed the table consideringly when he stepped up to take the next turn, thinking if he played this right it would look like… He lined up the shot, aiming for one of the solids that was nestled right next to a stripe, and gave the cue ball a firm hit. He managed to hit the solid he'd been aiming for but it was the striped fourteen that rolled into one of the corner pockets. "Crap."

"Thanks for the help, son," Trevor teased. "We appreciate it."

Xander huffed a little, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat up his face despite the fact that the shot had played out exactly as he'd intended. He just hoped that Dean knew that too. He thought he might have seen a ghost of a smile on the older man's face when Trevor and Cody weren't looking, but he wasn't sure.

Trevor pocketed three stripes on his turn, which Dean followed with three solids. Cody sank the last stripe next, but was left with a tricky angle on the eight ball which he didn't manage.

The next shot Xander lined up was straight and simple, the only possible drawback being if he scratched, which he knew he could avoid by hitting the cue ball a little below center. He refrained though, choosing instead to hit the cue ball dead-on. It was no surprise to him when the white ball followed the purple four into the pocket, but he still ducked his head embarrassedly when Trevor patted his back and ribbed him with, "You're sure you're not on our team?" as he passed by to retrieve the cue ball. The guy was actually starting to tick Xander off a little, and Xander looked forward to getting a little turnabout.

Thanks to Xander's scratch, Trevor easily sank the cue ball in the corner pocket, winning another game for Team Jackass, as Xander was starting to call them in his head.

"Let's triple the bet!" Xander said with a hint of frustration that he didn't even have to fake.

"Whoa, whoa, man. I don't know. We're already down eighty bucks between the two of us," Dean warned, putting on a show for the two other guys.

At least, Xander _hoped_ it was for show and that Dean hadn't actually changed his mind about whether Xander could pull this off or not.

"Yeah, come on," Trevor encouraged. "I think the kid had some beginner's luck actually kicking in there at the end."

Xander scowled at the blond man over that last dig, but switched his gaze to Cody when the other man started hedging, "I don't know, Trev. It's getting kind of late. Maybe we should just call it a night." He was looking between Dean and Xander with a kind of apprehensive look, and Xander wondered if he suspected their intentions or if he just thought Xander might flip out on them if he lost a third game.

"Don't wimp out on me now, man! I think we've got them on the ropes."

Cody rolled his eyes at his friend but gave a shrug that seemed to say 'whatever man'.

"So what do you say, Dean-o? You feel like parting with a little more of your money?" Trevor asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Only if you stop calling me that," Dean returned with a grimace that Xander thought looked fairly genuine. Dean gave a labored sigh like he was already regretting his decision and fished a few more twenties out of his wallet while Xander did the same.

"All right! Rack 'em," Trevor called excitedly.

Xander did, catching Dean's eye as he moved toward the end of the table, and he thought he saw the corner of Dean's mouth twitch in an almost smile.

"Solids it is," Trevor called with a grin when he pocketed the three ball on the break. Two more solids followed after that before Dean swaggered up to take the next turn.

This was where the difficult part began, Xander thought to himself, already feeling that twinge of nervousness nagging at the back of his mind, and he really hoped he didn't screw up. He didn't really feel all that worried though. He'd seen Dean play before. The man was better than most pros and could probably beat both Cody and Trevor on his own without Xander's help.

Which was why Xander was so shocked when Dean managed to pocket only one ball on his turn.

"Well hell, boys. You're not even putting up a fight." Trevor taunted. "Looks like this is going to be the shortest game of the night."

Xander turned to Dean with wide eyes, but the older man looked completely collected, nearly smirking, and he gave Xander an imperceptible nod.

Cody took his turn next, pocketing two more solids with a smile but not boasting nearly as loudly as Trevor would have.

Xander took a deep, nervous breath when he realized he was up next, taking a moment to chalk the end of his cue. Trevor slung a friendly arm around his shoulder. "Don't you fret too much, son. We'll buy you both a drink when this game is over…assuming you're old enough," he threw on at the end.

Xander looked at Dean, who looked back steadily, eyes alight with confidence and mischief, and Xander thought, _if Dean thinks I can do this, then, damnit, I _can. He shrugged Trevor's arm off, not even bothering to glare at the man, then moved over to the table, aimed, and shot, pocketing the thirteen with quick efficiency.

"Woo!" Trevor cat-called. "It's about time. Let's see you do that twice."

Xander ignored Trevor's jibes and pushed away his giddy excitement over having made a shot, focusing instead on his next lineup. This time, when he pocketed the fifteen ball with ease, Trevor remained silent, and when Xander sank the twelve next, he smirked at Trevor and said, "Guess that beginner's luck really _is_ helping."

When Xander pocketed the ten ball on his fourth shot, with what Xander thought to be a rather impressive bank shot if he did say so himself, Trevor and Cody exchanged an uneasy glance. He didn't pocket anything on his fifth shot, but Xander thought four was a pretty damn good run, considering.

Trevor stepped up to the table next, looking damn unsettled, and before he could line up a shot, Dean clapped his shoulder and said, "Don't worry, man. When this game is over we'll buy you both a drink." Trevor was so flustered that he didn't manage to pocket anything.

Dean was openly beaming now and sharing grins with Xander. He sank only one ball again this time, but when Cody stepped up for his turn, he took one look at the layout on the table and muttered, "Aw, hell. You didn't leave me any shots."

Cody's turn was short-lived, not managing to pocket anything, and then it was Xander's turn again. He made short work of the nine ball, but when the cue ball's roll came to a stop it was nestled behind two solids which directly blocked its path to the eight ball.

"Well, let's see you make _that one_," Trevor goaded, regaining some of his confidence.

Xander glanced at Dean, whose expression seemed to say, _dude, that's nothing, you've totally got this in the bag_. Xander nodded, called "side pocket", then regarded the aim with renewed concentration. He elevated the cue, angling it just right, exhaled slowly, and then took the shot. The cue ball jumped, clearing the two solids and rolling a short way before impacting the eight ball, which rolled cleanly into the side pocket.

"Damnit!" Trevor blurted immediately, staring at the table like he just couldn't quite believe it. Then something dawned in his eyes, and he looked up at Xander and Dean with a surprised and somewhat offended expression. "You hustled us!"

Xander pulled a slightly panicked, 'who me?' look, and Cody laughed good-humoredly, slapping his friend on the back. "I told you, you have to watch out for the young ones. They're always trouble."

Trevor groaned, more embarrassed than angry. "Man, I can't believe we got owned like that."

"Just be glad Gary and Blake weren't here to see it," Cody tried consoling.

His eyes widened, imagining the humiliation. "Oh, they would never let us live this down."

"Well played, man." Cody nodded at Xander, and the younger man allowed himself a goofy grin.

Dean had already flagged down one of the waitresses and was charming his way into her good favor. "Hey darlin', would you mind bringing me and my buddies here a few cold ones?"

The waitress, brunette and busty, gave him a saucy smile. "For you, sugar? Anything."

"Gina never smiles at _me_ like that," Trevor grumbled after the women had gone off to retrieve their drinks.

"That's because she's met you, so she already knows how much of an ass _you_ are," Cody mocked, taking a seat at one of the nearby bar tables.

"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" Trevor accused, but he was smiling as he pulled up a chair next to his friend.

Xander and Dean joined them, the four men settling into easy conversation, and a few minutes later Gina returned with four bottles of beer, doling out the first two to Trevor and Cody, then pausing after placing the third in front of Xander. "Are you really over twenty-one?"

"Of course he is," Dean butted in, flashing his knock-'em-off-their-feet smile. "We just age so well that we look much younger than we actually are. It's in our genes."

Xander may not know much about charming the ladies, but he _still_ thought that was the lamest line ever, and by the expressions on Trevor's and Cody's faces, they thought so too. Gina, however, bought it hook, line, and sinker, practically putty in Dean's hands – or at the very least, wanting to _be_ in Dean's hands.

She let go of Xander's beer and leaned closer to Dean, resting one hip against the table which drew Dean's eyes to her waist and the line of flesh not completely covered by her jeans or her top. "And just how old are you?" she asked coyly.

Dean dragged his gaze slowly up her body before meeting her eyes again. "Old enough to have plenty of…_experience_," he answered, voice heavily laden with innuendo.

Sitting next to Xander, Trevor made a cough behind his fist that sounded suspiciously like _bullshit_.

Gina's smile widened, though, and she placed Dean's beer on the table in front of him, leaning down to put her face closer to his and giving him a nice view of her cleavage. "Well," she said, voice smoky and just loud enough for the other three men to still catch her words, "_I'm_ old enough to know better." With that, she gave him a wink and turned on her heel, sashaying back toward the bar.

Dean's eyes followed her backside, and he gave an appreciative sigh. "I like that one." He shook his head as if from a daze, and said, "Well, cheers." Then he gestured with his beer toward his companions before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a swig.

Xander followed suit, taking a tentative drink which was promptly met with an expression similar to one he made when he was eight and had thought mixing pixie sticks in with his chocolate pudding would be a great idea. It really hadn't been. At the face he made, the other three men at the table dissolved into laughter, Xander eventually joining in with a self-deprecating smile.

The next half-hour continued much the same, the four men joking and just generally shooting the shit. Xander found that the more he drank, the better the beer tasted – or the less he _could taste_ – and as the beer started tasting better, the funnier the other three guys got. He was clutching his sides in laughter by the time he hit the bottom of his first bottle and Dean sweet-talked a second one out of Gina.

Trevor and Cody bailed shortly after that, and Dean split his attention between chatting Xander up and flirting with Gina. Xander, for his part, talked Dean's ear off about all things Sunnydale, Buffy, Willow, the virtues of Twinkies and moon pies, and at some point, despite a vague sense of warning in the back of his hazy mind, he let slip the story of _why_ the substitute-teacher-turned-preying-mantis chose him as her 'project helper'. He didn't know it now, but he was probably going to regret giving Dean that kind of ammunition later.

Xander was about halfway through his second beer when Dean, eyes lit up slyly, asked, "So Sammy's planning something, isn't he?"

"Yep," Xander answered, not even stopping to think about it and about three sheets past the point of remembering why he really wasn't supposed to be talking about that, and even added with manic glee, "It's going to be gooooood."

"Yeah!" Dean grinned victoriously, thinking he'd hit pay dirt. "So what's it going to be?"

"I don't know," Xander shrugged brightly. "Sam didn't tell me."

Dean's good mood plummeted as he already knew that Xander was too far gone to be lying and that his chances of hacking Sammy's secret plan were now nil. "Well you're no help."

Xander frowned thoughtfully, trying think of a way to be more helpful, and seconds later he snapped his fingers – or tried to. "I know it _won't_ have something to do with your clothes."

"Well that narrows it down," Dean deadpanned.

Xander collapsed into giggles, and Dean shook his head. When his laughter tapered off and he could breathe again, Xander took another swig of his beer. "This shtuff doesn't tashe, taize, _taste_," he managed on the third try, pronouncing the second _t_ with a heavy _tuh_ sound, "as bad as I think it did."

Dean's eyebrows arched up toward his hairline, and he reached across the table to grab the bottle out of Xander's hand. "And I think you've had enough."

"Okay," Xander returned easily, goofy smile still plastered on and no less happy for the loss of alcohol. "I'm really glad you guys found me," he managed with a smile and only some slight slurring, "er, that I founded you. I'm glad we were found."

"Yeah, me too," Dean added seriously, understanding the sentiment behind the words despite the lack of sense. "And I think that's our cue to leave before we start sharing our feelings." Standing from his seat, he added as an afterthought, "Or before you start puking."

Xander stood too, and it was only Dean's hand on his arm that kept him from swaying dangerously off-center.

Dean laid some money on the table, enough to cover the drinks and a healthy-sized tip for Gina, and then the two left, Dean giving Xander's arm a pull anytime he leaned too far in one direction.

* * *

"SAMMY!" Xander greeted joyously the second he and Dean staggered through the motel room door.

"You got him drunk?" Sam asked incredulously, eyebrows inching upward when Xander leaned precariously to the right. He helped Dean to move Xander over to the far bed, lowering the younger man to a sitting position.

"One beer and a half, Sam," Dean defended. "He's even more of a lightweight than you are."

Xander gave them both a loopy grin as if he knew they were speaking about him.

"That's really responsible, Dean," Sam said, though the reprimand was dampened by the smile tugging at his lips. He shoved a bottle of water into Xander's hands. "Here, drink some of this."

"Had to give him the full initiation," Dean said.

"He's not even twenty-one yet," Sam chided lightly.

"As I recall, you were only sixteen the first time I got _you_ drunk." And he'd had to do a lot of convincing back then just to get the little bookworm to go out with him and live it up a little. Kind of like he did now, really.

"And as _I_ recall," Sam countered, turning around to face Dean, "Dad ripped you a new one for that."

Dean chuckled out loud as that memory bubbled to the surface. "Yeah, I never knew Dad's face could turn red that fast. But then, of course, right after that you told Dad that he was short and bossy and could shine it where the sun doesn't stick – worded exactly like that, I might add – and then passed out like a light, right there on your feet. Dad and I laughed so hard. I thought I was going to break rib." He still laughed about it now.

Sam frowned at him. "Dude, it didn't happen like that. I was _not_ that wasted."

"That's just because you were too wasted to remember it right," Dean said, giving in to another bout of chuckles.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his back on Dean.

They both looked at Xander, who was now laying back on the bed, feet still on the floor and out like a light.

"Nice," Sam stated dryly with a pained sigh. He crouched down and started pulling off Xander's left shoe.

"Sorry," Dean said, the chuckle in his voice voiding the apology. He started working on the right shoe. "But what better way to get drunk for the first time than when you have family around to watch your back?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll thank you for that when he wakes up tomorrow with a hangover."

"Well, there's _no way_ he can be as surly as you were that next morning," Dean chuckled, casting a grin at Sam, who huffed a little at the barb.

For the second time in as many nights, Sam and Dean found themselves having to maneuver Xander into bed.

"Man, this is starting to become a habit. And he's heavier than he looks," Dean complained.

"You brought it on yourself this time," Sam muttered, and Dean supposed he was right.

Once they got Xander rolled onto the bed in what looked to be a more or less comfortable position, Sam stood wearily and gestured toward the other bed. "You can take the bed, I'll bunk here with Xander."

Dean eyed the other bed warily. Sure, it sounded like Sam was making a nice offer considering they hadn't been able to get a rollaway this time around, but he'd given that up way too quickly. He didn't think Sam had really been _translating_ this whole time. Was the bed covered in itching powder? Surely nothing as lame as just short-sheeting it. There was just no out-pranking a master.

"I don't think so," Dean refused, laughing like he'd just caught Sam with his hand in the cookie jar. "No way I'm getting in that bed."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, confusion playing over his face.

Like Dean was really going to buy that clueless act. "Come on, dude. You didn't really think it would be that easy, did you?"

"You know what? Forget it," Sam said, giving up on puzzling out whatever the hell Dean was talking about. "But if Xander pukes on you in the middle of the night, you've got nobody to blame but yourself."

When Sam stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt and crawled into the other bed without pause, Dean frowned. _Guess there really _wasn't _anything wrong with the bed_. He eyed the space next to Xander and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have just taken Sam up on that offer. But at least this way Sam wouldn't be able to do anything to him in his sleep without involving Xander in it. He didn't think Sam would prank him at the younger man's expense. And while a foghorn might not wake Xander, Dean was a light sleeper. He changed, flipped off the light, and crawled into bed on the other side of Xander, confident in the knowledge that there was no way Sam could pull one over on him.

* * *

"_Xander, you better wake up if you want to get a Twinkie. Dean's about to eat the last one_."

As the whispered promise of junk food filtered through to his sleep-fogged brain, Xander raised his head and blearily looked around, his gaze eventually landing on an apologetic looking Sam.

"Sorry, no food. But trust me, you're going to want to see this," the older man gestured toward the bathroom door.

Xander sat up, inhaling deeply and scrubbing a hand over his face, and then looked toward the door expectantly.

True to Sam's word, about two minutes later a startled yell came from the bathroom, and Dean came rushing out, eyes wild, a hastily wrapped towel around his waist…and a head of shockingly blue hair, sticking up haphazardly in wet spikes. "Sam!" Dean growled threateningly, dripping blue-tinted water on the motel carpet.

Dean's death-glare didn't have quite the desired effect as both Sam and Xander were overcome in a fit of hysterical laughter.

"I'm going to _kill_ you two," Dean stated menacingly when the laughter died down enough to get a word in edgewise.

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam wheezed. "It'll grow out. Eventually." This set off another laughing fit for the two younger men, and Dean growled, going back into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

Xander laughed so hard that it hurt, and he clutched his sides. He may have woken up with a headache but seeing Dean like that had definitely made it worthwhile. Instant hangover cure, really.

Dean spent the next half-hour trying to shampoo the blue out of his hair with little success. By the time Sam and Xander had showered and dressed, it was already lunchtime. As Dean refused to be seen _anywhere_, Sam and Xander were forced to forge for food at a local convenience store where they stopped to fill the Impala with gas.

They returned to the car with a few hot dogs and sodas, and at Xander's insistence a blue Slurpee for Dean, which Xander handed over saying, "Just for you, Papa Smurf."

Dean looked like he wanted to dump it over Xander's head and was only stopped by the mess it might make in his car.

Xander also dropped a baseball cap onto Dean's lap as Sam was passing out food and drinks. "Here, I grabbed you something to hide your shame."

"Well, it's the least you could—" Dean stopped short. "World's Best Fisherman?" he asked disdainfully, turning it around to show the embroidery on the front to Xander like he might have missed it when he picked it up.

"Sorry, " Xander said, not sounding particularly apologetic, "but the Mom 'n' Pop shop were all out of AC/DC caps. Beggars can't be choosers and all that."

"So what do you say? Truce?" Sam asked.

Dean scowled. "Are you kidding? You really think I'm just going to let this go?"

"Yeah, Sam, let's think about this for a second," Xander pitched in. "I mean, we still have so many other colors to try out. Purple, orange…what about green? That would really bring out his eyes. We could go rainbow-colored and call him Skittles."

"I don't know," Sam disagreed. "I really think pink is Dean's color. He seems to like it well enough when it comes to _clothes_."

"I bet we could find some matching nail polish," Xander added.

"All right! Fine! Truce!" Dean ground out.

With that, the Great Winchester Prank War of 2006 came to an unceremonious end, and just moments later the Impala screeched out of the parking lot.

* * *

"I think we should pull over."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean exclaimed, turning to glare at Xander over the seat. "Didn't you _just_ go?"

"It's not me! Chester's starting to look really antsy back here. I think he's- Ooo! There!" Xander leaned fully over the seat and pointed off to the right, nearly taking Sam out with his arm.

Dean groaned when he saw the 'Welcome to Kansas' sign, a few sightseers already milling around in front of it. "Do we have to?"

"Do you really want Chester to pee on the floorboard?" Xander questioned rhetorically.

Dean pulled the car over, parking behind an RV, and Xander picked up the dog. "Come on, Chester, let's see if we can find some _Blue's Clues_ for Dean," Xander said with a grin at the older man.

Dean called out, "Dude, that's just lame," as Xander jumped out of the car with Chester in his arms, taking the dog over to what looked like a nice patch of grass.

While Chester was busy taking care of business, Sam and Xander stretched their legs and watched a family of four pile back into the RV. They pulled away, and shortly after a truck pulled into the same spot, towing a small camper behind it.

An elderly couple got out, surveyed the landscape a bit, pointing at the 'Welcome to Kansas' sign, and then the woman made her way over to them. She looked just like a grandma, with short, curly, bluish-gray hair and a smile that said she probably spoiled her grandkids rotten and baked cookies all the time.

"Hello boys!" she greeted with a southern twang. She held a camera out to Sam. "Would you mind snappin' a picture of Ernie an' me? We've been taking pictures of every state we pass through and emailin' them to the grandkids. They just love hearin' stories about where we've been."

Sam gave her a smile. "Sure, ma'am. I'd be happy to."

As Xander watched the two return to where Ernie was standing, the elderly couple striking a pose in front of the state sign, a thought occurred to him and he climbed into the backseat, digging through his bag till he pulled out the disposable camera Buffy's mom had given him. "Come on, I want to get a picture of you guys," Xander told Dean, who had yet to get out of the car.

"No." Dean's tone was firm.

"Oh, come on, Gonzo, don't hold out on me!"

"See, and that's exactly why. In case you haven't noticed, my hair is _blue_." He gestured wildly toward his head.

Xander nearly laughed again at the reminder. It just got better and better every time he thought about Dean's psychedelic hair. He settled on saying, "Yeah, well, so is Grandma's. Maybe you two can bond over being Marge Simpson fans."

From the look Dean gave him, that wasn't really helping Xander's argument, so he added more seriously, "Please?"

Dean sighed and let his head drop on the steering wheel with an audible thump. "One picture," he relented.

Xander whooped, jumped back out of the car, and scooped Chester up from where he was chasing a butterfly. With Dean trailing reluctantly behind, he trotted up to the Kansas sign where Sam, Grandma, and Ernie were still standing around chatting. "Hey Sam, I want to get a picture of you and Dean," he said, handing Chester off to Sam and herding his brothers toward the sign.

"Say cheese," Xander said, readying to take the shot, but before he could snap a picture, Grandma snatched the camera out of his hands.

"You should be in the picture, too," she told him.

Xander shrugged and jogged over to join them, and Dean snagged a hand on his arm, positioning him between the two of them, saying, "Shortest in the middle."

They shuffled awkwardly and looked over at Grandma.

"Young man, that is a lovely shade of blue," Grandma commented to Dean.

Sam and Xander both laughed and turned to look at Dean who looked back at them with a disgruntled expression like he was trying to keep from saying something that wouldn't really be appropriate for a grandmother to hear.

Grandma snapped a picture, grinning impishly. "Oops! I suppose I should get a serious one now," she said.

They all faced the camera again and smiled, even if Dean's looked a little put out, and the old lady snapped a second picture.

"Thanks," Xander said, coming up to take the camera back.

The group stood around chatting for a bit longer until Chester started to doze off in Sam's arms, and then Dean started to shuffle his feet impatiently, aiming pointed looks toward the car. Sam caught on and started making their goodbyes, but it wasn't until after Grandma had given Dean a large zip lock bag of chocolate chip cookies that they managed to make it back to the car.

Xander climbed into the backseat, tucking his camera back into his bag, and then took Chester from Sam and settled the sleeping dog onto his lap. "See, Dean. I told you Grandma would like your hair."

Dean sighed and muttered, "Just for that, I'm keeping all the cookies to myself."

As they drove away, Xander looked out the window to see Grandma and Ernie waving goodbye, and Xander waved back for a moment before the figures became lost in a blur of cornfields.

* * *

The last few hours on the way to Missouri's house passed a lot like the very first hours they all spent in the car together when they had left Missouri's several days ago. Xander fidgeted, chattered on endlessly, and basically made a nuisance of himself, Dean kept turning the music up to drown him out, and Sam wished he could be anywhere but inside that car.

In comparison to the mad dash they'd made to get to North Carolina, the return trip moved at a snail's pace. They only traveled for two hours _at most_ before something had them pulling over: the car needed gas, Xander wanted a picture, Xander needed something to drink, Chester needed a potty break, _Xander_ needed a potty break.

Amazingly, Dean relented to each stop with little prodding, whether because he was worried about what damage Chester could do or because he was developing a real soft spot for Xander, Sam wasn't sure. Not that Dean would ever admit to the latter, anyway. The constant, familiar banter was a dead-giveaway though.

The moon was already making its ascent into the sky when they finally broke the Lawrence city limits, and the banter was still going strong. But Sam didn't know how they could even hear each other over AC/DC. He listened silently, wishing he could drown out both the music and the nonstop chatter and maybe catch a little shuteye.

"Man, I hope Missouri's got some food. I'm starving," Dean complained.

Xander had his arms resting on the seatback between Sam and Dean, close enough that Sam could hear his reply, "This coming from the guy who ate _all the cookies_."

"I deserved those cookies."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And that's supposed to matter because?"

"Because I'm the oldest."

"Yeah, do you buy that, Sam? Because I don't. I think that's a crap rule."

Sam didn't even bother to comment, and it proved unnecessary anyway as Dean continued his argument, "Besides, you guys owe me for what you did to my hair."

"Which we only did because you turned our clothes pink. And besides, that was more Sam's doing than mine."

_So much for solidarity_, Sam thought.

"Right. Like you weren't busy playing decoy and keeping me distracted."

"As if that was a difficult task. I've seen four-year-olds with longer attention spans."

"Oh, and you're one to talk."

Sam had never felt so relieved in his life as when they rolled to a stop in front of Missouri's house. Sam climbed out of the car, took a deep breath, and stretched his arms high above his head, his back giving a satisfying pop.

Dean had already grabbed his bag and was moving up the front walk to Missouri's house, and Sam quickly followed suit. Dean wasn't the only one who was hungry, and like Xander, Sam hadn't had any luck getting Dean to share the cookies.

Sam was vaguely aware of the front porch light flicking on before he was suddenly plowing into Dean, who had come to a sudden stop.

"Dean, would you watch what you're—" The words died on Sam's lips as his eyes caught the shadowed figure standing on Missouri's porch, familiarity tugging at Sam. The figure moved, the porch light chasing away the darkness that shrouded it, and Sam felt a flare of recognition that took his breath away.

He was still blinking in shock, about to voice his astonishment when Dean beat him to the punch.

"Dad?"


	19. Chapter 19

"_Dad_?"

That single word, spoken by Dean, was all it took for Xander's heart to drop somewhere around his lower intestines. It wasn't as though the thought of finally meeting John Winchester hadn't occurred to him. The idea of such a meeting had been ricocheting through his mind ever since the moment he'd first learned that Tony Harris was not his biological father. He'd been plagued by a thousand questions he'd never even thought to ask before. What was he like? Was he a good man? Had he known about Xander or even considered the possibility? If he had known, would things have been different? What did he look like? Did Xander look like him as Missouri had said?

But somehow, between meeting his brothers and all the demon business in Waiverton, Xander's thoughts of his real father had been put on the back burner. Now, though, they sprang to the forefront of his mind with a vengeance. All those endless questions his mind had conjured and all the curiosity and anxiety that went with them overwhelmed his thoughts to an intense degree.

He thought back to how nerve-wracking it had been to meet Sam and Dean and how his anxiety had been justified by the rough start they'd had. Would John's reaction be anything like Dean's had been? Xander wasn't sure he could handle that. Once in a lifetime was enough for him, thanks very much. Strangely, though, Xander didn't feel as worried about the meeting as he had expected to be. Spending the past few days with Sam and Dean, Xander felt he'd had the chance to really get to know them (once they'd all come clean about being in the demon-hunting business), and while Xander didn't have any reason to think Sam and Dean would choose his side over their father's if it came right down to it, he felt comforted by their mere presence.

"Boys." The man on the porch called out in a gruff voice.

That simple greeting seemed enough to spur Sam and Dean out of their standstill, both rushing up the sidewalk, racing toward the porch, while Xander trailed cautiously behind.

"Dad, what-Where-We've been-" Sam had found his voice again, but couldn't seem to decide what question he should ask first. Xander remembered he hadn't been the only one of the trio that had been eager to find this man. As volatile as Sam had been a few days ago just before they'd left Missouri's, Xander couldn't even imagine how this confrontation would play out - and he wasn't sure he wanted to witness it.

It was then that Missouri opened the screen door and stepped out, her presence just as commanding as always. "Sam, Dean, you boys get in here and help me with dinner. This ain't no restaurant. You want to eat, you can just get your lazy bones in the kitchen and start workin' for your supper." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Missouri continued right on, "Ain't no use talkin' on an empty stomach. And bring that pup in, too. No telling what you boys have been feeding it. And don't you give me any lip, Dean Winchester."

"Hey! I didn't say any-"

"You were thinkin' it," Missouri scolded, then turned on her heel and headed back in the house, confident that Sam and Dean would do as told.

Dean looked toward the man as if for confirmation.

The man gave a light nod toward the house and said, "Better do as she says. I don't think you want her coming back out here after you."

At that, Sam and Dean looked back at Xander, and he came to the sinking realization that they were about to abandon him alone with this guy he'd never met. What happened to safety in numbers? Damn Missouri...Xander took back every nice thing he'd ever thought about her.

Sam gave Xander what amounted to a reassuring smile and moved to take Chester. In all the hubbub, Xander had almost forgotten about the sleeping pup in his arms, who stirred as he was exchanged to different hands and began squirming and wagging his tail. Now Xander would have no one to hide behind.

Sam made his way into the house with Chester, but Dean lingered behind. He eyed the man before favoring Xander with a long look. The expression on his face was unreadable, but Xander felt somehow reassured by it. Finally, Dean turned and went into the house, leaving Xander and their father alone.

With the last of Xander's support gone, he steeled himself and took a chance to study the man, now more clearly visible in the light from the porch. So this was John Winchester. His father.

Missouri was right. Xander could tell he strongly resembled the man in physical appearance. Same dark hair, same brown eyes...though Xander doubted that he had inherited that accessing stare. If Xander could stare down vampires and demons with a look like that, he might be able to avoid any major scuffles before they even started.

The silence drew on as they stared at one another, and the man - should Xander call him John? Mister Winchester? Dad? - seemed even less inclined to talk than Xander did. Missouri had explained things, right? What if she hadn't? What if John was wondering who in the hell this kid was that his sons had brought with them? Xander should probably say _something_, right? At the very least, introduce himself.

"Um," Xander started, internally wincing at his eloquence. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Did Missouri tell you..." _that I'm you're son_? If Missouri hadn't, Xander really didn't want to be the one to blurt it out. "Er, I mean...did she explain...things?" he finished awkwardly.

After a long beat, the man nodded.

Well, at least that little bombshell was out of the way, Xander thought, and then they both fell silent again. This guy made Angel seem social.

"So...I guess you're Mister Winchester?" Xander broke the silence once more, and then immediately wanted to groan at the obviousness of the statement. Who else would he be?

The corner of the man's lips twitched, like he wanted to smile, but instead he simply said, "How about you call me John?"

The offer gave Xander a small sense of relief, and in return Xander held his hand out and said, "I'm Xander."

John took the offered hand and gave a firm - but not bruising - handshake.

And with the introductions out of the way, Xander once again found himself at the 'now what?' stage. If he ever made it out of this conversation, Xander decided to write a how-to guide for meeting your biological family because Xander would have definitely found that useful right this second. Maybe he should comment on the weather now...

The silence continued to build until Xander couldn't take it anymore and finally blurted out, "This is really-" He stopped again, hesitating to say 'weird' because after growing up in Sunnydale, that word took on a whole new meaning.

Just when Xander thought they were going to get sucked right back into the silent void, John expelled a long, deep sigh. "You're tellin' me, kid."

The man shuffled his feet and ran a hand through his hair, and Xander was reassured to see that John looked as uncomfortable with this whole situation as Xander felt.

"I, uh..." John struggled to find his words as much as Xander had. "To be honest, I don't know what to say."

Xander doubted John was the kind of man who often found himself at a loss for words. He seemed more the type who knew what he wanted to say and wasn't afraid to say it. It was comforting to know he was just as thrown by this whole thing as Xander.

John took a seat on Missouri's front porch steps and looked up at Xander, which the younger man took as an invitation to join him. Xander gingerly took a seat next to him, resting his elbows on his legs and clasping his hands together, letting them hang loosely between his knees, unconsciously mimicking the same pose John had taken. "So..."

"This is a bit of a...shock," John admitted quietly.

"So I guess it's fair to say you didn't know about me?" Not that Xander had expected otherwise. "My mom told me only a few weeks ago. Just before I graduated."

"No, I didn't know." John affirmed. He turned his face toward Xander, looking him in the eye. He seemed to weigh his next words carefully before saying, "Even if I _had_ known, it wouldn't have made a difference." He said the words firmly, but not harshly. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but the truth is after Mary-" he stopped. "For a long time, our lives have been about just surviving. There would have been no place for you."

Xander bit his lip and looked down at his clasped hands. At least the guy was honest, which was more than could be said for most people, and Xander respected that.

"I want you to know I didn't come out here expecting... Well, I don't really know what I expected," Xander said. "But I'm not asking you for...anything. I guess I just wanted to..." Xander looked at him, hoping his expression could express what he couldn't seem to put into words.

John nodded like he understood, and Xander really hoped he did because he truly had no idea what he was trying to say.

"You seem to have turned out pretty well," John commented. "Missouri said you helped the boys out with that gig in Waiverton."

"Yeah, it turned out to be something I was familiar with. Not to mention I have a knack for stumbling right into the weird, for better or worse. I guess it's just a side-effect of growing up in Sunnydale."

"The Hellmouth," John said, and Xander nodded.

"I've known about the supernatural for a few years now," Xander explained. John merely nodded, and silence threatened to swallow the conversation once more.

"So, uh, how's your mom?"

"She's...good. I guess." Xander really didn't want to launch into a long-winded, sob story about his not-so-great family life, and he definitely didn't want to talk about Tony. Instead, he diverted, "My friends are great."

"And do they know about..." John made a 'you know' gesture.

"Demons and stuff?" Xander clarified. John nodded. "Yeah, they know. Willow and I found out at the same time, just after our other friend, Buffy, moved to Sunnydale. My mom and, um, Tony don't know, though."

John frowned. "Seems like it'd be kind of hard to miss given the location."

"It's amazing how many people can turn a blind eye," Xander remarked. "Vampires are most commonly mistaken for thugs on PCP."

The corner of John's mouth turned up a little, and he nodded his agreement.

Again, silence enveloped them, more comfortable than the previous times. Xander couldn't think of anything else to say or ask, and John, likewise, seemed content to enjoy the quiet for a moment.

Before long, however, the quiet was broken by a low grumble, and Xander rubbed his stomach, looking back over his shoulder. "You don't really think Missouri was going to let Dean help cook, do you?"

John considered, then said, "Not if she wants it to be edible."

Still, Xander added, "Maybe we should go check on them. Just to be sure."

John smirked. "Don't worry, kid. Missouri's probably the only woman I know who could put Dean in his place." He stood up, dusting his knees.

"I know. All the more reason to get in there. Wouldn't want to miss the entertainment portion of the evening." Xander grinned.

SSSSSSS

"I'm _not_ taking it off," Dean said, trying to put some authority behind his words, his last hurrah in a lost cause.

Missouri turned on him, one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a long wooden spoon like a machete. "You'll take that hat off right now, Dean Winchester, or I will beat you to death with this spoon. I _know_ you weren't raised in a barn."

"Near enough," Sam muttered darkly from somewhere behind him, likely still standing in the kitchen doorway and glaring daggers toward the front porch, but Dean was too preoccupied at the moment to tell his brother to knock it off.

Whether as an act of stupidity or extreme bravery, Dean stood defiant, both hands atop his head to ensure that the hat stayed in place. If Missouri saw his hair, he'd never hear the end of it. The hat itself was bad enough.

"Don't think I won't put you over my knee."

_She can try_, Dean thought. Then something distracted him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a cake sitting on the kitchen counter, chocolate icing gleaming invitingly at him. Without much thought, he reached a hand out, fully intending to snag some of that icing on his finger when-

_THWACK!_

"Gah!" Dean gave a startled yelp, jerking his hand back and rubbing his abused knuckles. He glared at Missouri, eyeing that wooden spoon of hers in case of any further attack. "That hurt!"

"You don't take that hat off, there will be more where that came from."

"You're a menace, you know that? Why don't you yell at Sam? He's the reason I'm wearing this stupid hat in the first place. Why do you always have to pick on me?"

"Who do you think you are? Charlie Brown? _Sam_ has manners, which is more than I can say for you. And you won't be getting anywhere near that chocolate cake until you get rid of that hat." She turned back to the stove with a 'hmph', muttering, "I never..." to herself as she stirred one of the boiling pots.

Dean knew when he'd been beat. Well, truthfully, he'd lost this argument before it had even started. Arguing with Missouri was a lot like trying to move a boulder by blowing on it. You wasted a bunch of hot air and then ended up with nothing to show for it. Dean sighed sullenly. "Fine." He reached up and pulled the hat off his head, bracing himself for the ridicule that was inevitably forthcoming.

Missouri didn't even spare him a glance as she said, "Good. Now get that poor animal some food and water before the pup starves to death."

Dean wanted to ask why Sam couldn't do it if he was so well-mannered but was too relieved that Missouri hadn't made any comment about his hair to bother. He had just started rifling through Missouri's cabinets for some bowls when she added, "Oh, and Dean? I just love that new do. Blue is definitely the new brown."

An aggravated noise caught in Dean's throat, and he slammed the cabinet shut with more force than necessary. He continued what he was doing with a petulant air, and the second he opened the can of dog food, Chester scampered over and began pawing at his leg, tail whipping back and forth in excitement. "Yeah, yeah, I'm getting it." He carefully set down two bowls, one with water and one with the dog food, in an out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen.

Chester dove in with a relish, eating like he'd never been fed before. Dean shook his head in fond amusement, reminded a little of himself. Or Xander. Either way, they all held food in high regard.

Dean turned his attention back to Sam, who hadn't moved in the slightest. Dean wasn't sure he'd even blinked. He looked like a lion ready to pounce on their father the second he walked in the door. He used to do the same thing when he was a teenager as they waited for their dad to come home from a hunt. Sam would be upset about one thing or another and launch a barrage of angry questions at their father before he'd even had a chance to put his bag down, and their dad, who was never easy to talk to even at the best of times, was always least talkative right after finishing a hunt and usually responded in a way that only further upset Sam and ended in a screaming match with Dean playing the reluctant referee. It was a recipe for disaster back then, and Dean couldn't picture it going any better now.

Moving to stand next to his brother, Dean leaned casually on the door frame. He followed Sam's gaze, looking toward the front of the house, futile though it was as they couldn't possibly see Xander or their dad from where they were standing. More than wanting to get answers from their dad, Dean just hoped everything was going all right out there. He knew his father could be a bit...off-putting, to put it mildly, and Xander wasn't accustomed to his manner the way Sam and Dean were. Assuming things went okay out there, a blow-out between Sam and their dad was the last thing they needed.

"Look, Sam," Dean started in a lowered voice though it likely wouldn't afford much privacy from Missouri with her being psychic and all, "I know finding Dad has been a long time coming and you'd like nothing better than to hash this whole thing out right now, but maybe now isn't the best time. We're all tired and hungry, and Dad and Xander only just met each other. How about we all just sit down, have a nice dinner, get some sleep...and then in the morning, we'll sort this whole thing out."

For a long moment Sam didn't say anything, didn't give any indication that he'd even heard Dean. Finally Sam gave a reluctant nod, and Dean felt relieved that the potential disaster seemed to have been averted, for the moment at least. Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder, willing him to loosen up a little. "Come on, let's set the table before Missouri has a chance to crack her whip again."

Sam went to grab some plates out of the cabinet, and Missouri gave him a brilliant smile. "Why Sam, are you settin' the table for me? See, Dean. Manners."

Dean stared agape. "_I'm_ the one that suggested it!"

"You think it's that easy to get back in my good graces?"

A ghost-like smirk briefly appeared on Sam's face, and Dean felt his irritation lessen, merely glad to see that Sam wasn't bent on pouting the whole night. "I was never _in_ your good graces," Dean grumbled good-naturedly as he gathered up some cutlery and followed Sam to the dining room.

It wasn't more than a few minutes later when John and Xander trudged awkwardly into the kitchen, both looking a little out-of-sorts but none the worse for wear. Dean met Xander's eyes and tried to gauge his mood, feeling the protective need to make sure the younger man was all right. Xander shrugged a little and gave him a confused half-smile that seemed sincere. He didn't look on the verge of bolting at any rate, so Dean took that as a good sign.

Then Xander's eyes lit up. "Is that a chocolate cake?"

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, just try it. I dare you." Let Missouri take a whack at Xander.

"No dessert until after dinner," Missouri interrupted sternly.

Apparently Xander knew better than to argue with Missouri because he simply shrugged and went into the dining room, everyone else following behind.

It wasn't long before they were all seated around the dining room table, everyone's plates full of lasagna and glasses filled with their beverage of choice. The only thing missing was conversation. Xander, for his part, was too busy eating to talk and seemed oblivious to how the silence was smothering the room. Sam was mostly just moving his food around on the plate with his fork, pointedly not looking at their father. Missouri, on the other hand, was glaring at John between bites of pasta. And John...

Dean noticed that his father was staring at him with a strange, consternated expression, almost as if he'd never laid eyes on his own son before, and Dean wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

When John noticed that Dean had caught him staring, he met his son's eyes and started tentatively, "Dean..."

There was a serious but questioning quality to the tone of his father's voice, a tone that put Dean on edge. He put his fork down, gave his father his full attention, and steeled himself for the worst. Was his dad upset that they'd taken Xander with them to Waiverton?

John stared at him a beat longer, an unnerving, contemplative look in his eyes. After a few seconds, his gaze drew slightly upwards, and finally he asked, "Son, why is your hair blue?"

Laughter rang out around the table, and even Sam abandoned his sulking to join in the merriment.

Dean felt something ease inside him, tension falling away even if the joke was at his expense. He grinned as he glanced around the table and took in the easy and happy expressions on everyone's faces. His family was together and enjoying themselves. It didn't get much better than that as far as he was concerned.

"Yeah, well, Sam's and Xander's socks are pink. At least my hair is a masculine color," Dean said, getting a little ribbing of his own in.

The conversation flowed easily after that, teasing and reminiscing and sharing stories of past hunts that had seemed terrifying at the time but were funny in hindsight. They managed to stay away from any sensitive subjects without much effort, stepping carefully around all the things unsaid thus far, and before they knew it, they had whiled away several hours without even noticing.

Dean first realized the late hour when he noticed that Xander had his elbow propped up on the table, head resting on his hand as his eyelids drooped. He grabbed the younger man firmly by the shoulder and jostled him slightly. "Hey, man. Go to bed. If you fall asleep at the table, we're leaving you there. We had a hard enough time getting from the car to the motel room the other night."

Xander's eyes fluttered open. "Wuh?"

Sam smirked, standing from his seat. "I'm ready to turn in myself. I'll make sure he doesn't end up going to sleep in the hallway or something."

"And Dean will help with the dishes," Missouri threw in, grabbing a few plates off the table and heading for the kitchen.

"Don't I even get a say in this?" Dean called after her.

She didn't dignify him with an answer, and Dean figured that really said it all. With a sigh, he told Sam, "Why don't you and Xander grab the bed this time? I'll take the couch."

Sam nodded, grabbing one of Xander's arms and pulling him from his chair.

"Don't let the Twinkies and Ding Dongs get away," Xander mumbled drowsily, already half-asleep.

The other three Winchesters fought back laughs, Dean already looking forward to teasing Xander tomorrow about his choice in dreams.

"Don't worry," Sam assured the younger man. "We won't let them get away."

"Gotta be careful," Xander warned. "The little suckers run fast."

Sam chuckled as he led Xander from the room. "I think we can manage..."

Dean shared a grin with his father as he began clearing the rest of the plates from the table.

"Never thought I'd see anyone else that loves food as much as you do," John commented.

"He's a good kid," Dean said firmly, meeting his father's gaze. The statement came out more pointedly than he'd meant for it to, and by John's sharp look, he had also noticed Dean's tone. Dean wasn't even sure what he'd been trying to impress upon his father. Maybe he just knew the man too well, knew that there were several issues that had yet to be addressed, and if the Winchester family history held true to its usual pattern, those issues wouldn't be resolved in any amiable sort of way. He didn't want to see Xander or the new family attachments they were making get lost in the scuffle.

John frowned, an edge of warning creeping into his voice, "Dean."

Dean cleared his throat, side-stepping whatever his father was about to say. "I'd better get these in there," he gestured at the plates, "before Missouri comes after me with her spoon again."

He left the room before his father could voice any disagreement. He preferred to think of it as a strategic retreat rather than chickening out. Why start an argument tonight that could be put off till tomorrow? Besides, Sam was always so much better at it, anyway.

Surprisingly, Missouri refrained from hassling Dean the entire time they were washing dishes, but Dean was too lost in his thoughts to truly appreciate the peace she was affording.

When they had dried and put away the last dish, Missouri turned to him and put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "John Winchester may always do what he thinks is best, but it doesn't mean he's always _right_."

She smiled kindly, squeezed his arm once more, and turned to go, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen to puzzle over what she'd meant.

He sighed wearily, rubbing a hand through his hair. Feeling beyond tired, he decided to save deciphering Missouri's yoda-speak for the morning, hoping the light of day could shed more sense on her words. He hit the kitchen light as he left the room, making his way down the darkened hallway toward the living room, fully intending to stop by the guest room on his way past.

He paused when he found his father already standing motionlessly in the doorway, staring into the room. Quietly, he sidled up next to the man, likewise gazing into the room at his younger siblings.

Both were sprawled on their backs, breathing deeply. Chester had curled up on Xander's stomach, tail twitching every so often.

Dean smiled at the picture they made, content in the knowledge that his family was safe and sound - for the moment. The smile slid from his face as Sam's sleep turned fretful, a frown disturbing his features that had seconds before been serene. Sam's breath hitched, his body tensing in reaction to something only he could see in the wasteland of his nightmares.

It annoyed Dean to no end that, whatever it was that was plaguing Sam, he couldn't help his brother face it. Sam made a low, pained noise, one arm jerking as if trying to move away from some unseen threat. As it was, he only succeeded in elbowing Xander in his side, hard enough that there could very well be a bruise come morning.

Both Dean and John winced in sympathy from where they watched at the doorway. Xander, ever the deep-sleeper, slept on unfazed.

John's wince turned to surprise. "He really sleeps-"

"Like the dead?" Dean cut in, already well-aware of his youngest brother's capacity for undisturbed sleep.

John nodded.

Chester, however, did not seem to be as oblivious. He lifted his head and uncurled his tiny body, searching out the source of discontent.

Sam made another low moaning noise in his throat, and Chester's ears perked. The pup stood from its make-shift bed atop Xander and slid down to the mattress, stepping across the comforter until he was at Sam's side. With ginger movements, he climbed atop Sam's chest, then sat back on his haunches, watching Sam's face as though he could sense what Sam was dreaming.

Finally, Chester laid down length-wise on Sam's chest. He inched forward until his small head was nestled under Sam's chin, tail tapping lightly on the man's stomach.

Dean was amazed to see Sam relax, his breathing evening out once more. Unconsciously, Sam brought one of his hands up to rest on Chester's back, protectively cradling the pup. Within seconds, both dog and man were again sleeping peacefully.

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean whispered, a new fondness for Chester kindling in his chest.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes, watching the three sleeping on the bed like sentries keeping guard.

John was the first to break the silence. "Seems like you've picked up quite a few strays."

His father's voice was mild, but Dean bristled at the comment nonetheless. "I wouldn't exactly say strays."

John was silent for another beat, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its mildness. "It wasn't a good idea to take Xander with you."

Dean didn't want to admit how much his father's approval meant to him...or how much his _disapproval_ hurt. Maybe John was right. Maybe it _had_ been a bad move at the time, but it had turned out all right in the end. "Xander was actually the one who figured things out. I'm not saying we couldn't have done it without him, but he made it a hell of a lot easier than it could have been."

"And you _could_ have gotten him killed."

Dean flinched. All things considered, he felt things had actually been coming together rather nicely. "Maybe if you just gave him a chance, you'd see that-"

"He needs to leave before he gets involved in things that don't concern him. We have enough to worry about with looking out for Sam."

"What do you mean? Sam's just as good at hunting as you or me, and I've always managed to look out for him. Looking out for Xander won't be any different." Dean hated the way this argument was going. He felt like he was begging to keep a pet rather than Xander. This was his _brother_ they were talking about, not just some dog. If they were talking about Chester, his father might be making some sense, but he _wasn't_.

John opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, then seemed to change his mind. For once, Dean honestly couldn't make sense of his father's reasoning. Turning away another ally in the fight against evil, one that had proven himself capable in the heat of the moment, seemed to fly in the face of common sense. Especially now that they were all together and his dad had finally-

Realization dawned, dread unfurling in the pit of Dean's stomach. He knew the way his father thought better than anyone, and his next words were spoken with conviction as he asked, already knowing the answer, "You're taking off again, aren't you?"

John's silence was answer enough. He gave Dean a piercing look. "Send him home, Dean. That's an order."

For years, Dean had had his hands full trying to hold this family together with both Sam and his father seeming intent on bailing at every given opportunity, and here his father was wanting him to abandon the one other family member that actually _wanted_ to stick around. The order left a cold, heavy feeling in Dean's chest, and it was one of the few times that Dean wished his vocabulary included more than just "yes, sir" when it came to his father's orders.

Dean's jaw clenched as he looked once more toward the bed, eyes moving protectively over his brothers. _Both_ of them. The last time Dean had been this pissed was the night his father had told Sam not to come back. Sam wouldn't have any problem standing up to their father, and his younger brother was going to be a hellcat when he woke up to find their father missing again.

"Do we have an understanding, Dean?" John's tone made it clear that he expected Dean to fall in line.

Resigned, Dean just barely managed to ground out, "Yes, sir." The words had never tasted so bitter.

Without another word, John turned and moved off down the dark hallway, more than likely already leaving for parts unknown. The need for tearful goodbyes wasn't in the book according to John Winchester.

Dean stayed rooted where he was. The night had started off well enough, only to end so badly. Tomorrow stood to be even worse as it seemed likely that neither Sam nor Xander would take the news well.

Dean had never really minded the responsibility his father put upon him, instead shouldering it with pride that his father put so much trust in him. But tonight that burden bared down on him like the weight of a mountain.

Tonight, he felt much older than his years.

TBC...


End file.
